


nct/wayv one-shots/drabbles

by wayvbabey



Category: NCT (Band), WAYV
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Mentioned NCT Ensemble, Mentioned WayV Ensemble, OT21 (NCT)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 23,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24644230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wayvbabey/pseuds/wayvbabey
Summary: A collection of one-shots, drabbles, and ideas I have that I may or may not write in the future. Feel free to request over on my tumblr, @lucaswithnoshirt!
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Reader, Dong Si Cheng | WinWin/Reader, Huang Ren Jun/Reader, Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun/Reader, Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Reader, Kim Jungwoo (NCT)/Reader, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Reader, Lee Jeno/Reader, Lee Taeyong/Reader, Liu Yang Yang/Reader, Liu Yangyang/Reader, Mark Lee (NCT)/Reader, Moon Taeil/Reader, Na Jaemin/Reader, Nakamoto Yuta/Reader, Park Jisung (NCT)/Reader, Qian Kun/Reader, Suh Youngho | Johnny/Reader, Wong Kun Hang | Hendery/Reader, Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas/Reader, Xiao De Jun | Xiao Jun/Reader, Zhong Chen Le/Reader
Comments: 13
Kudos: 119





	1. cybernetic; w.yh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Machines don't feel.

"Now, let's not make any quick decisions." The android holds up its hands warily. Well, as best it can when you've fried one of its arms.

You don't hesitate to raise your gun higher, only a few metres away from its forehead. "Don't touch me. Don't look at me. Don't even breathe in my direction." Is your harsh reply.

"I can do that!" It grins at you, making you recoil even more and turn back to the data interface that you were currently hacking into. If he moved, your sensors would alert you. "After all, I don't actually need oxygen to survive-"

"Keep your mouth shut." You grunt back at it. "Fucking XUX1s, goddamn. Who the hell rewired you like this?"

You could practically feel it cocking its head, like a confused puppy. Yeah, a confused puppy with the potential to rip your head from your body in less than ten seconds. "I'm not sure I know what you're saying. But, do you need help hacking into the ship's mainframe? I could give it a go."

You turn your head to stare at it, with its tanned skin, soft black hair and those horrible honey brown eyes, shining so brightly and intently. How could something so hideous look so human?

"In case you haven't latched on to the situation," his face drops at your sour tone, "you've been kidnapped. I'm your kidnapper, and I'm ordering you to be silent while I try and get us off this shitty planet!"

It recoils at your harsh tone, and a tiny, minuscule part of you feels bad for snapping. Said part was quickly crumpled up and disposed of. You couldn't let your guard down. Turning to face the screens again, you work your way through multiple codes until the security finally gives in, allowing you access to the entire ship. You plug in your co-ordinates; deep space would be the safest option. For some reason you couldn't fathom, this death-machine was... loved, for lack of a better word. You'd heard the rage coming from various creatures' mouths as they'd realised you'd hurt and then snatched up their 'friend'. 

"Fucking XUX1's," you curse again, shaking your head. Why didn't your informer mention the 'precious cargo' you'd need to acquire was a sentient robot?

"My name's Yukhei, by the way." It pipes up again quietly, voice soft as if it's a child afraid to disturb their parent. "Not XUX1. I don't even really know what that it."

A humourless laugh leaves your lips. "Yukhei. Right."

It gets braver and tries again. "Where are we going?"

Finally satisfied with your handiwork, you leave the ship to its own devices after feeling the familiar hum of the engine's core. Pushing your hair out of your eyes and turning around, you're again surprised to find it watching you from the floor, where it's sat with its legs crossed and arm cradled to its chest. As much as you wanted to disable its other arm (and the rest of it, for that matter) you knew the limb would have to be patched up before drop off. They paid less if they were injured.

"You'll see." You replied, grimacing before turning away once again.


	2. like lovers do; k.dy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a thin line between love and hate, and Kim Doyoung is dangling you over the edge.

"This is a stupid idea. A dumb, stupid idea."

"Shut up," Doyoung murmurs, voice strangely soft for someone who supposedly hates you.

In truth, you don't want to shut up. You want to run your mouth again and again until he finally gets bored of you and pushes you away because under the neon blue lights that illuminate his face, you are close enough to see every flaw (not that there are many) on his face. Feel his breath on your cheeks as he moves that tiny bit closer and hear the background music fade into nothingness as he consumes your thoughts. It's too much.

Then he breaks away, looking slightly to his left. You use this chance to step back and make to be swallowed up by the maze of figures on the dance floor. But Doyoung has your arm in a vice-like grip as he pulls you against him. 

He leans down. "She's looking."

This time it's you that looks to the side, and there she is. Doyoung's girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend, who is currently watching the two of you intently while she sips her drink. There's no getting out of this, so with a silent sigh, you turn back to your mortal enemy, slowly inching closer.

"You owe me big time for this one, Kim." You tell him as he leans closer, before finally meeting him halfway and greeting his lips with yours.


	3. the 127; nct 127

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You work with a bunch of idiots.  
> 

The morning you clock into work is a gloomy one. The rain drizzles down onto the pavement outside and the clouds have banded together to prevent the sun from shining through, leaving a blanket of greyness to sweep over the city.

You always like to get to work ten minutes early so you can ditch your bag in your locker and gear up. Normally most of the other detectives clock in a little later but today you're surprised to see Johnny and Jungwoo in the midst of a deep conversation, and to your great displeasure, Donghyuck seated over in the break room, hastily making what you assume to be a sandwich. Taeyong, as usual, is in his office with his head in his hands, and what you can only guess to be heavy metal music blaring through his speaker. The closed door and blinds do little to muffle the sound but no-one else seems affected by it, so you head over to the break room to store your lunch.

Donghyuck looks up as if he's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, dark brown eyes widening into a round shape. However, when he sees it's only you, he relaxes and lets his lips fall into a smirk. "Late again, L/N? Tsk, tsk, how are you ever going to advance up the ranks when you can't even get here on time?"

"Don't 'tsk tsk' me," you throw him a weird look, opening the fridge. "And I'm not late, I'm early, which you would know if you weren't so obsessed with getting on Captain Lee's good side."

"I am not!" He protests as you straighten back up, sandwich forgotten. "You're the one that's always asking to be assigned to the drug cases. Admit it, you want to impress him with a huge bust."

"I just want the drug busts because Detective Kim gets them," you shrug, "him and Detective Moon are the best in this precinct. Anyways, why are those two arguing?" You nod your head towards Johnny and Jungwoo who are now both pointing fingers and raising their voices.

"Detectives Suh and Kim?" Donghyuck repeats as he follows your gaze. "Oh, I dunno. They were already fighting when they arrived."

You throw him a concerned look. "What time did you get here?"

"I camped outside last week until I found a regular pattern of when Captain Lee arrives, so I can get here before him to impress him." Donghyuck smiles. "It's around six, if you're wondering."

"Funnily enough, I wasn't." You sigh, making your way to the door. "See you later, loser. Hope you get assigned to the records room!" 

Before Donghyuck can protest you're already out the door, making your way to your desk. Morning briefing is in 30 minutes so you decide to make yourself busy by logging in all of your reports. In the meantime, the rest of the team come rolling in, one by one.

"So," a little while later, you hear the rolling of a chair as it comes closer to you. Yuta pops up by your side, coffee in hand as he leans his seat back to see what you're typing. "Why are Johnny and Jungwoo fighting?"

"No idea," you reply absentmindedly, eyes locked on your screen. "Ask Donghyuck."

"Can't, he's in with Captain. Something about wanting to work on drug cases to gain more experience?"

"That little shit," you curse, looking through the Captain's office window and shooting him a death glare. As if he heard you, Donghyuck turns to look at you and sends over a signature smirk. "Why is he such a pain in the ass?"

"You know what's a pain in the ass?" The two of your jump at the sound of a raised voice. It's Johnny, standing up with folded arms as he glares down at Jungwoo. "When you mislabel evidence for the second time this week. And it's only Tuesday, Jungwoo!" With that, the taller man storms off, presumably to listen to some angsty music in the bathroom or whatever it is that he does in there. He takes a lot of bathroom breaks, you've noticed.

You and Yuta exchange glances but before you can speak Taeyong comes out of his office, a smug-looking Donghyuck behind him. As if some silent bell has rung, the rest of you follow him into the briefing room where he sets up the laptop screen and then steps up to the podium, running a hand through his black locks.

"Good morning everyone," Taeyong begins. "I hope you had a good morning. Today, I'd like to know how we're handling the- where's detective Suh?"

"Bathroom, Captain." Detective Moon pipes up, arms crossed. "I think he's annoyed cause Jungwoo keeps messing up their homicide case."

"Hey, give the man a break," Yoonoh defends Jungwoo. "His girlfriend broke up with him last night."

"She what?" You and Yuta both turn around to face Jungwoo, who looks like he's about to cry. "Dude, I thought you brought her the ring?" Yuta folds his arms on the desk and leans forward, eager to find out the gossip.

"Ha!" Doyoung slams his hands on the table and stands up, grinning triumphantly. "Twenty dollars! Pay up, Mark."

You glance over to Mark, who is staring at Doyoung like a deer in headlights. "You placed a bet on if Jungwoo would pop the question?" You ask, horrified at the whole situation.

"It's not like that!" Mark squeaks, at the same time Donghyuck says "that's rough, man."

"Enough." Taeyong silences everyone with a loud voice, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's not even nine yet, goddammit. Doyoung, Mark, keep your stupid bet out of this. Jungwoo, do you need to go into my office to collect yourself? No? Good. Y/N, can you please go and get Detective Suh from the toilet-"

"What if he's in the middle of going to the toilet, sir?"

"He's not," Mark pipes in. "Last time I went in there he had his shirt off and was trying to set a new profile pic for his Tinder."

-

"Do we really have to stop off at this bakery?" You question, watching from inside the car as Johnny walks out of the shop holding two paper bags. "I thought we were supposed to be investigating your homicide case."

"Johnny likes to make sure we've got enough snacks for the mission," Jungwoo explains. "Besides, have you eaten yet?"

"Of course," you deadpan, "I'm not Dongyhuck. I meal prep in advance."

"Speaking of," Johnny gets back into the car, unwrapping the bag while Jungwoo turns on the engine and passing a muffin to you, "how could you just let him hop on that case with Taeil and Doyoung? I thought you wanted to get some pointers?"

"It's not that big of a deal," you bite into your muffin. "I just thought that today I should team up with the most awesome duo the one-two-seven has to offer."

("Detective L/N," Taeyong raises a hand to stop you as you're about to leave the briefing room. "I know I've promised I'll assign you to a drug case, and quite frankly I feel that you'll flourish under Taeil and Doyoung's guidance. However, I feel as if Detective Kim needs some emotional support today, and I don't think Suh can take it."

You nod sagely. "I've heard Suh is a bit of a player, Captain."

He looks at you weirdly. "That's not what I- never mind. Would you be willing to finish up this homicide case with them? Knowing you, you'll have it wrapped up by the end of the day.")

Johnny beams at you while you chew your chocolate muffin without another word.

-

"I'm not getting in there."

"Well someone is going to have to."

"I've just gone through a breakup! A breakup, Johnny. I'm not in the right emotional state to be looking through the trash."

You watch as the two men bicker. A part of you just wants to volunteer to put them out of their misery, but there is no way in hell you're going to sacrifice your cleanliness and dumpster-diving to find a weapon.

You're outside Joe's Pizzeria, where a murder had happened in the early hours of the previous morning. Jungwoo had solidified a prime suspect and all that was left to do now was find the murder weapon. After an hour or so of brainstorming ideas, you had asked to check the garbage outside the restaurant. 

"Y/N," Johnny jerked his head, gazing at you intently. "Get up there."

"What? No way!" You protest.

"It's only fair!" Jungwoo chimes in. "You're one of the newest detectives- you need to prove your worth to us and take one for the team."

"Okay, first of all, screw you guys. Second of all, this isn't even supposed to be my case! How do you think the others are gonna react when they found out I found the murder weapon?"

"Good point, good point." Johnny nods thoughtfully. "Okay Jungwoo, you're up."

After much protesting Johnny finally manages to convince the shorter boy to 'take one for the team'. In reality, all three of you should have been searching, but you and Johnny had mutually decided that Jungwoo had this one handled.

"What am I looking for again?" Jungwoo's voice floats up out of the dumpster and down to you where you're sat angrily texting Donghyuck. He's just sent you a selfie of himself grinning next to a haul of cocaine. In the background, Taeil is making a peace sign. 

"That should've been me..."

"What was that?"

"An eight-inch chef's knife with a serrated blade," You reply without missing a beat. "Silver with a black handle but it may be covered in blood. That's the only knife the pizzeria is missing."

"We look so sketchy right now," Johnny mutters, pacing back and forth and peering out of the alley nervously, practically wringing his hands.

"What's gotten your panties into a twist?" You ask him curiously, putting away your phone. You won't rise to Donghyuck's goad, something you know will piss him off.

"He's afraid Sketchy Joe's gonna pull up on him," Jungwoo jumps out of the dumpster, smelling strongly of trash but grinning as he brandishes the knife you had just been talking about.

"Wait, Sketchy Joe? As in Joe's Pizzeria Joe?"

"Of course not. Totally different Joe." Johnny opens up an evidence bag and Jungwoo carefully places it inside before peeling off his gloves. "The guy's a bit territorial about his alleyways. When Johnny was new here he almost got shanked by him a couple of times. We arrested him, of course, but strangely enough, his mother always came to bail him out." And the bail wasn't cheap! Taeyong made sure of that."

"My money's on a secret drug empire." Johnny shrugs. "Anyway, if you’re ever dumpster diving and Sketchy Joe comes around just pull a knife on him. That pussy’s too afraid of being stabbed to do anything.”

"Detective Suh!" You gasp. He just shrugs again, making his way back to the car with the two of you trailing behind him. 

"What? He wasn't gonna stop doing it if I just kept arresting him. Once he got a taste of his own medicine, he backed off."

You don't know how to respond to that so you just shake your head, striding forward in hopes to get to the car quicker.


	4. exorcise; q.k ft. 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What are best friends for?
> 
> (Apart from becoming possessed and asking you to help them perform an exorcism).

You look over at your best friend hesitantly before heaving out a sigh and inching a tiny bit closer, as if he's a ticking time bomb (which, to be fair, he kind of was). 

"Are you sure this is going to work?"

"Just punch me and get it over with, Y/N!" Kun grunts, eyes already closed in anticipation. Surrounding him are the necessary items you've triple-checked over the course of this evening: a salt circle, pentagrams that are drawn in chalk, and candles flickering at each point. All that's left is-

"-do I have to do this?"

Kun's eyes fly open in equal parts humour and despair. "Y/N! In case you haven't noticed, there is a freaking demon inside of me-"

"Oh I've noticed all right!" You yelp right back at him, pointing your holy wooden cross at him accusingly which he winces at. "One minute I'm in the shower singing along to Celine Dion, the next your little friend is barging in and scaring the shit out of me!"

"He didn't like Celine Dion, okay?" Kun replies snarkily before grunting and doubling over. Ever the coward, you inch back, cross raised protectively.

"Hurry up, Y/N." Kun gasps, "you need to hurt me to draw him out. Then we can end this."

It pains you to see your friend like this. Worst of all, it was you that had caused this. If you hadn't been messing around with the ancient textbooks, the demon would never have been released and Kun would never have to have saved your life by becoming the vessel this demon inhabited. So, as terrified as you were, you owed it to Kun to save his life as he had yours.

Stepping closer, you gently tuck the cross into your back pocket and clench your fists experimentally. You've never hit someone before, and the sensation is new to you. You'd scoured the textbooks, desperate to see if there was another way, but apparently inflicting pain onto the human vessel was the easiest and quickest way to summon the demon.

"Don't tuck your thumb in," Kun advises, eyes are closed as he stands stock still, save for his chest that rises up and down rapidly. The thing inside him was trying to come out (probably trying to stop whatever you were about to do) so you knew you didn't have much time.

"Sorry for ruining your pretty face," you mutter before hurling yourself forward and making contact with Kun's jaw. It snaps back and you watch in fascinated horror as he falls to the floor. Were you that strong? Or had he just been focusing all his attention on keeping the monster at bay?

Seeing Kun start to shake and groan, you knew it was the latter. However, as you stepped out of the pentagram and shakily held up your cross, you could feel something was wrong. There was a cold chill creeping up your back, almost as if an icy hand was settling on your shoulder.

Turning around, you swore you had never screamed so loud in your life.

There was a hand on your shoulder, that belonged to a faceless, shapeless thing the colour of murky blackness like it had been dragged up from the deepest trench at the bottom of the ocean. Its body barely touched the floor and easily towered above you, the darkness making up its body swirling and stirring around. There was something akin to a head-on top of the hulking mass but instead of a face there was a slightly darker hole that you could only assume was the mouth.

It was so cold. You could feel your shoulder going numb from where it was holding you. It wasn't a tight grip, more like an extended limb meant to keep you in place while it examined you. Ice trickled into your veins like an IV drip, rooting you to the spot.

Then, just like that, you were yanked back by a grip that was definitely meant to latch onto you. In less than a second Kun had placed you behind him and was standing in front of you protectively, but his posture, the way he shook, even his aura, told you that this was not Kun.

(While Kun was homebound trying to control the entity currently using his body as a host, you had gone to the forbidden library and spent the night trying to find out whatever you could on the demon that had taken residence inside him. You were unable to pronounce its name, but you'd learned the locals had called it Ten.)

You were expecting Kun-or should you say Ten -to face off against the thing. But while it reformed itself, slowly sucking its extended limb back into its body, he turned to face you, eyes a soulless black. Stunned, you could only try and hold up your cross to his face, which earned you a smirk as it was plucked from your grip and snapped in half.

"Nice try, sweetheart. Now, be a dear and climb out that window for me."


	5. betrayal; z.cl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monsters come in two forms: the hunter and the hunted. 
> 
> You were a fool to think you could be anything more than that.

"Can you just- can you just wait a second?" You plead in a frustrated tone, pacing after your friend who is already halfway down the street. "I just need to talk to you!"

"Talk?" Chenle whips around, red eyes narrowed and filled with so much pain that it causes you to flinch backwards. You've seen him happy, you've seen him angry, but you've never seen him this upset before. "You really want to talk- no, you really think this is something we can talk about?"

You open your mouth once again, but this time nothing comes out. You'd imagined this situation countless times in your head, enacting out every possible scenario, but it had never ended like this. It was never meant to end like this.

Chenle takes your silence as hesitation, which further fuels his anger. "I trusted you! I liked you! And after all this time, you were just waiting to stab me in the back, right? God, how could I be so blind?" He scoffs and turns to go once again, but this time you surge forward, quickly closing the gap between the two of you and clutching onto his arm. He pulls away as if scalded.

From up close, you can see every perfection on his face, the exact perfections that should make the two of you mortal enemies. His skin is flawless marble, ice-cold to the touch and as pale as the whitest snow. His eyes, usually a soft brown, are a burning crimson, staring into your own with equal parts fear and hostility. And you knew if he pulled his lips back into a smile- or snarl, that there would be two sharp incisors protruding from his upper gums.

"It's not- this isn't- we can work this out," you plead to him, "I was never going to hurt you."

He scoffs, pulling further away. "Don't give me that, Y/N. I know exactly how this ends. You get all friendly with me and when I've lowered my guard, you'll try to take my life. I'm not stupid. It's happened to my brothers and I won't let it happen to me." 

His words turn your insides sour, then white-hot with rage. How could he think this? You've been his friend for months now, seen him at some of his most vulnerable moments and not once have you tried to do anything to him.

"How could you say that? Are you just going to throw away our whole friendship now you've discovered what I am?" You bite back. "You seriously don't care about me, not even a little bit?"

"God, Y/N," Chenle repeats, with malice, "just admit it. I might be a monster, but you're a born killer. Your type is rotten to the core and can't be trusted. Why won't you admit it? Drop the nice guy act."

This causes you to flinch back, because his words sting. You feel the familiar hot wetness gather up on your eyelids and unashamedly let them trickle down, causing Chenle to stop scowling at you for a moment and glance worriedly at your tears as they fall. He'd always been a softie for crying.

"Is that seriously what you think of me?" You replied, stunned. Up until this evening, you and Chenle had been as thick as thieves. Had this one secret torn such a huge hole in between the two of you? Was this really what he thought of you?

"I need space, Y/N." After a few moments, Chenle spoke again, in a quiet but firm voice. It was obvious his mind was made up. He turned to go, while your mind was racing, trying to figure out a way to make him stay.

It was only as he was halfway down the sidewalk, back facing, that you called out:

"If you leave me now, I won't come back."

He stopped, and for a moment your heart soared. He would come back to you and it would be just you and Chenle again, not monster hunter and vampire.

But he didn't. After the slow, dragged-out pause that seemed to last a lifetime, he kept on walking.


	6. this means war ; j.jh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who's irritating yet has the prettiest face?
> 
> Jung Yoonoh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick disclaimer: I do not condone bullying in any sense of the word and am not trying to romanticise it in any way. Think of the relationship between Yoonoh and the reader as one where someone thinks the other person is enjoying their pranks but in reality they hate it. With that being said, please enjoy!

There are many things you hate in this world.

Take, for instance, people who haven't decided what they want to order when they get to the till. They then spend five minutes umming and ahhing over what to choose because ‘there’s just so much to choose from’, wasting valuable time. It irks you.

Not as much as BMW drivers though. You can't begin to count the number of times you've been cut up by one of those ridiculously overpriced cars or had to go and find another parking space because one entitled boomer can't bear the thought of another car potentially scratching their precious baby. It's pathetic.

But there's one thing you hate more than anything else in the world. It's worse than indecisive people, worse than BMW drivers, worse than stepping on a lego, even. The tenth level of hell would be dedicated to the subject of your wrath if it existed. If you searched up 'hatred' in your personal dictionary you were one hundred per cent sure you would know who would pop up there. 

You hated, loathed, despised Jung Yoonoh.

There's a scene in a film called Insurgent where the main characters are on the run and taking refuge in another faction. Two of the characters don't get along and, whilst conversing, the guy makes a dig at the main character about how she got her parents killed. And you can see the rage slowly bubble up onto her face as she tries to comprehend what an absolute dick the guy is, before launching herself across the table to have at him.

That surmises your hatred for Jung Yoonoh.

First meeting? Paint in your hair. First day of high school? Tripped you over in front of your new friends. Talent show? Pulled the fire alarm during your act. Prom? Ruined your dress with some punch.

He was like a tick, having buried himself into your life and drained you of a normal childhood. Wherever you had gone he hadn't been far behind, wreaking havoc whilst grinning stupidly at you as if he'd just found the cure for cancer.

But finally, finally, after eighteen years of torture, you were free.

University was a breath of fresh air. An unknown, foreign experience that you lapped up without the fear of being tripped over or having a drink spilt on you. Though you'd only been there a short while it was safe to say that for the first time in your life you were truly enjoying yourself. 

Today was the day your lectures started and you couldn't be more excited. Your roommate didn't have to get up that morning and you were going to meet your friends at the lecture hall so you strode along the campus alone, backpack secured and books in hand whilst you marvelled at your new home. Nothing could crush how elated you felt at finally being free of your small hometown and all its horrors.

"Y/N? Y/N L/N?"

It couldn't be. There was no possible way.

"Oh my god, it is you!"

He was across the country! He was on a sports scholarship, for god's sake! How the hell was Jung Yoonoh, a practical giant compared to BMW drivers and indecisive people, and your mortal enemy, striding towards you with a massive grin on his face?

You were gawking him, mouth open and eyes bulging while you tried not to drop your books. Knowing him, he'd probably give you a stupid smile have a little laugh before kicking them away from you, going 'oops, sorry' the whole time.

"What the hell are you doing here?" You blurt out, equal parts disgust and fascination. He'd certainly grown up during spring break. His hair was lighter and he had to be a few inches taller, at least.

"It's so good to see you," he grins down at you, hand coming up to ruffle your perfectly styled hair. Your eye twitches. "Who knew we'd be going to the same uni?"

"Who knew!" You parrot back, borderline hysterical.

"Anyway," he ignores your internal breakdown and digs around in his pockets, pulling out a crumpled map of the campus. "Can you give me a hand with navigating? I don't know where my first lecture is and I've been wandering around for a while now."

"Oh, I, uh, actually have to run right now. I'm super late-"

You turn to go but his hand grips onto your backpack and you fly backwards with an 'eep' into a solid wall of muscle. Yoonoh had been hitting the gym too, apparently. He slung an arm around your shoulder and leaned down until his head was next to yours, bringing the map up for the both of you to read.

"I have advanced maths, do you know where that is?"

Oh no no no. This was not happening. The idiot, Jung Yoonoh, did not have the same lecture as you. What had you done wrong in your past life? How the hell had he gotten into an advanced lecture?

"I have that next," you said it more to yourself in disbelief than him, but he straightened up with a grin, tucking away the sad little map back into his pocket and looking down at you expectantly. "Great! Lead the way then, Y/N. I'm so glad I've got you to hang out with here! We're gonna have so much fun."

With a face vaguely resembles a zombie, devoid of emotion and wishing someone would bash its brains in, you start to walk, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other and trying not to launch your backpack at his annoyingly cute dimples.

"Yeah... so much fun."

You had just entered the tenth level of hell.


	7. room of requirement ; l.dh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested.

“Oh my god, this was such a bad idea.”

“Shut up!” Donghyuck hissed from beside you, giving an aggressive yank on the blanket that left you with only your pyjamas for warmth. It didn’t matter that the Room of Requirement wasn’t particularly cold, you just didn’t want Donghyck hogging the blanket, so you gave a huff and tugged it back, foot coming up to push him away. It worked and he flinched as you snuggled back under.

“I can’t believe we’re stuck here,” you murmured, “I can’t believe I’m stuck here with a Slytherin.”

To be honest, it wasn’t that you disliked Slytherins. No, your problem was solely with the boy lying next to you. Donghyuck liked to play pranks for no reason, he liked to tease you when you got the answers wrong in Herbology. All that should be enough of a reason to make you want to run out the room and get as far away from him as possible.

But that wasn’t it. It was worse than that. Because Donghyuck had also got rid of your boggart in Defense Against The Dark Arts when you had been scared and had pushed a Gryffindor’s head into some trifle at dinner when they’d mocked after you spilt pumpkin juice on your robes. 

Slytherin’s weren’t supposed to be nice.

“Please be quiet,” you felt Donghyuck shift from behind the wall of pillows the two of you had mutually decided on. “It’s your fault we got stuck in here in the first place. Have you really not memorized Snape’s surveillance route?”

“You’re the one who was sneaking out after the curfew!”

“You followed me, Y/N, so don’t act like this isn’t your fault. I would’ve managed this fine on my own.”

“Oh really,” you sneer, turning to face him, “then why the hell are we stuck in the room of requirement with only one bed, genius?”

He went quiet after that and, unbeknownst to you, turned a bright shade of red in the darkness. Because he had been the one to conjure up the Room of Requirement, and the room only appeared when you needed it most. He hadn't meant for it to only have one bed, but then again, maybe his crush wasn’t as subtle as he’d thought.


	8. sign me up (as yours) ; j.s

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested.

You vowed to yourself that this would be the last time you would do business with Johnny Suh.

Your custom dress was too tight, pinching around the waist so that even the tiniest drop of alcohol sat heavy in your stomach. Not that you were allowed to drink, the contract explicitly stated getting drunk at social events was a no-go.

So you scowl into your glass of water. Where was your boyfriend, anyway? A quick scan of the room found him in the midst of a conversation with a few middle-aged men and women who, by the looks of it, were wrapped around his finger.

That was one of the things that Johnny Suh was so good at and what had made him so successful. He was a lethal concoction of charisma, brains and looks, and everyone who fell into his path- including you -had succumbed to his charms.

It was initially meant to be a one-time thing: he needed a date to a charity gala to get the press off his back and you, recently unemployed, had stumbled right at his feet one night in a bar. Yet here you were, six months later, trying to smother the adoring smile that grew on your face as you watched him skillfully extract the trade deal he needed from the crowd. 

You were in too deep, which is why this needed to end.

As if he’d heard you, his eyes found yours from across the room and the smile that blooms on his face makes butterflies erupt from your stomach and a rosy blush dusts your cheeks.

“Babe,” within moments he was by your side, head dipping down to press a kiss to the crown of your head and hand slipping to your waist to splay across your lower back. Then, in a lower voice, he leans closer to your ear.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Hardly,” you snort into your water, finishing the glass and pressing it into his chest, which he took from you and placed on the tray of a nearby waiter. “How long till we can leave?”

“Just let me finish up then we can go home,” he smiles fondly down at you, fingers intertwining with yours before he gently leads you across the room while hunting for his next target.

We. 

At the start, it had been you and him. Boss and client. Money and transfer. Now the payment was a hushed whisper barely touched upon by you both, ignored in favour of late mornings spent in his apartment curled up in each other and watching some corny movie, or trips out to fancy restaurants when you were able to catch him on a break.

“Is this the girl I hear so much about?” A beautiful lady drew your attention back to the present as she held out her hand for you to shake. You plastered on your award-winning smile and shook it gently.

“Lovely to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” she beams, glancing between you and Johnny. “I always thought Mr Suh was too busy for a sweetheart, but I’m glad to see him happy. You compliment each other very nicely, I must say.”

“Thank you,” Johnny squeezes your hand but you can’t bear to reciprocate. These people feed into your delusions because they only see the tip of the iceberg, this front you put up. You so want to agree with them, but you know it’s all fake.

Your thoughts consume you for the whole evening and you don’t realise Johnny’s noticed until he’s bidding the ladies goodbye and curling his hand around your waist, leading you to the car.

“Where to, Sir?” Taeil, the driver, glances in the mirror as Johnny settles in the back with you, leaning over to help you put on your seatbelt. His cologne hits your senses and you have to turn to the window to stop yourself from leaning into him, scared you’ll reveal too much.

“Home, please,” Johnny answers, voice soft and quiet. The ride is spent in silence with you looking out the window and trying to count how many buildings you pass by. Occasionally, you feel Johnny glancing at you, probably looking to start a conversation. But you never turn to him, because you know if you do you’ll break and he’ll see everything.

“Do you have a spare change of clothes?” You ask him gently, once you get to the apartment. “This dress is a bit tight.”

“Is it? Shit,” he frowns before tugging you into the bedroom. “You should have said something, I would have had it altered.”

“I didn’t want to disturb you,” you reply, thanking him as he hands you a top and some sweatpants. Then you go to his bathroom to get changed, staring at yourself in the mirror, face dressed up to the nines with your expensive highlighter and golden bronzer, while your eyes hold a certain type of heartbreak to them, tears ready to fall down.

You had to end it now.

When you come out Johnny is already on the bed, jacket flung on the floor as he flips through the channels trying to find something to watch. He pats the side of the bed without looking at you, an invitation for you to join.

“Johnny,” you murmur, watching him turn to face you. He seems to know something is up because he turns off the television and stands up, regarding you cautiously.

“Is something wrong?” He asks gently, eyebrows furrowing with worry. “You’ve been off all night and you weren’t talking in the car.”

“I’m fine,” you reassure him. “But… we need to talk.”

“Oh God,” he blurts out instantly, face crumpling into worry, and you have to stop yourself from snorting because there is no way one of the richest men in Seoul is having a mental breakdown over those four little words.

He waits for you to carry on while you try to piece together your words. But talking has never been your strong suit, so you blurt it all out at once.

“I don’t want to do this anymore.”

You watch as he takes in what you say, confusion and then understanding painting his face.

“You don’t want to fake date anymore? Why?” His voice is oddly small for such a tall man.

“It’s just not working,” you shrug, feigning nonchalance. “I need to get a job, a stable source of money. And this isn’t exactly… healthy.”

“What do you mean by ‘healthy’?” He queries, coming closer. “And if it’s the money that bothers you I don’t mind negotiating. If you want a job, I’m fine with that.” He reaches for you at the same moment you back up and the hurt on his face makes you look away.

“I don’t need to explain,” you say to yourself more than him.

“No, you do.” In one fluid movement, he surges forward and takes your hands in his, towering over you. “We’ve been doing this for six months, Y/N, six months. I think I deserve an explanation.”

“I don’t owe you anything.” You snap, trying to tug away.

“What’s up?” To your annoyance (or relief) he no longer looks sad and instead is sporting a small smile. “Why are you so upset?”

“Johnny, if you don’t let go I’m going to-”

“Is it because you like me?” You freeze, watching in horror as his smile grows. “Are you in love with me?”

“Are you dumb?” You stammer out, finally twisting out of his grip and pacing to the other side of the room. It doesn’t matter because he follows you with childlike glee on his face. Does he enjoy tormenting you? “Why the hell would I be in love with you? This is a contract. A contract.”

“Is it,” he lowers his voice like he did in the car you still while he comes closer, hands drifting to his hips. “I don’t think we’re pretending anymore, Y/N. You don’t need to try and fool me.”

Your lips twist and teeth grit against one another as you lean your forehead against his chest, trying to keep the tears at bay, because it’s all over. He knows.

“Pretty girl,” he coos, hand coming to lift up your chin while the other circles around your waist. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying.”

“Liar,” he giggles, hand resting on the side of your face while he wipes your tears away with his thumb. “Now, tell me what’s wrong.”

You have to keep down an angry sob. “Are you seriously going to do me like this, Johnny?!”

You feel his chest vibrate as he throws his head back laughs at your hysterics, before he returns to you and connects your foreheads, brushing your noses together.

“You silly girl,” he murmurs, “we’ve been dancing around each other for months.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Shut up and kiss me, Y/N,” his eyes briefly meet yours, shining as bright as the 18th-century chandelier you’d been standing under less than an hour ago, before he leans forward and connects your lips while you try not to smile through your tears.


	9. sunshine ; h.rj

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested.

Summers in the city were unbearably hot.

You were used to the open breezes of the countryside, and hopping in the lake when your clothes got stuck to your body. But here, where the tall buildings surrounded you, it was like being stuck in an oven.

“I’ve never been this warm before,” you admit to the boy standing next to you.

Renjun hums, watching you out of the corner of his eye with a small smile as you swing your legs up and down. As soon as you’d stumbled into his life with a broken suitcase and dwindling funds, he had decided to not only take you in but also show you the wonders of the city. This included all the great scenery (though you begged to differ).

The park was full of kids running around and parents setting up picnics, but the two of you had settled on a bench, taking a break from being inside the stuffy apartment and opting to walk around the city. It had been too hot to go far so you had ended up here.

“It’s only going to get warmer,” he grins at you and you can’t help but admire the way the sun clings to his cheeks, giving him a beautiful golden glow. You knew your roommate was handsome from the moment you accepted his ad, but with every passing day, the attraction you felt only grew.

“Stay here,” Renjun hops off the bench and you watch him go, weaving in and out of the picnickers until he’s out of sight. You sit there looking like a lost puppy for a while until he calls your name and you see him, two ice creams in hand, and a big grin on his face.

“Thank you!” You jump up and greet him, taking the cold treat he offers you and wasting no time in eating it. “Shall we walk?”

“Sure,” he leads the way while you follow behind, licking your ice cream happily.

“What are summers like in the country?” He asks you, smiling at how content you seem.

“A bit boring,” you reply honestly. “It was either help out in the fields or play in the lake. There wasn’t much to do.”

“Sounds peaceful.”

“It was anything but,” you snort before an idea pops into your head.

“Renjun,” he turns as you call his name, only to be met with some ice cream being smeared on his cheek. He can only stare at you as you giggle, clapping a hand to your mouth to try and stop them escaping.

“Do that again. I dare you.” He tries to sound menacing but you take it as a challenge, pretending to lunge forward with your whole ice cream extended. He returns the favour by plunging his hand in his own ice cream and darting after you as you speed off, squealing and begging him to stop.

Eventually, it comes to an end. You try to dart around a tree at the same time he feints left but goes right, catching you. His ice cream finds home in your hair while yours accidentally impales itself against his shirt and you gape at each other, wondering if you’ve gone too far.

But you break into a smile, one so happy and pure that Renjun can’t help but lean down and kiss you. When he pulls back, you’re grinning even wider.

“Tastes like ice cream,” you joke, before pulling him down for another.


	10. this means war #2 ; j.jh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested.

It’s a lazy afternoon when Nabi meets you on the field behind the baseball pitch. It’s a common place for students to meet when they haven’t got any lessons and she finds you sunbathing, bag strewn over the grassy floor, eyes closed while the sun beats down.

“How’s it going, babes?” The older girl sits down next to you, bringing out her phone and snapping a few pictures of your slumbering form. She’ll have to remember to send them to Yoonoh later, just to rile you up.

“When has anything gone right for me,” you lament, eyes still closed.

“Jung Yoonoh?” She taps away on her phone absentmindedly, preparing for your rant.

“Jung Yoonoh,” you sigh back to her. “The bastard.”

“The bastard,” she agrees. “What’s he done now, girl?”

“He just keeps wanting to ‘hang out’!” You sneer, getting up and facing her. “I don’t understand it! Everyone on campus is dying to be his friend- and I don’t even know why -but he keeps asking me if I want to do stuff. t’s infuriating.”

“Sounds it,” she tries to sound sympathetic, disguising her smile under the pretence of taking a selfie with you. You stick up a peace sign grumpily.

“But,” she checks the photo, “don’t you think it’s 'cause he likes you?”

You stare at her, pure horror written on your face. “I thought you were supposed to be my friend.”

“I am your friend, babes-”

“Then how could you suggest that!” You wail miserably. “That cute little son-of-a-bitch as my boyfriend? I’d cry, Nabi. I’d seriously cry.”

'Is she ranting abt him again?' A text comes through from your mutual friend, Yerim.

“I mean, he does bend over backwards for you,” Nabi rationalises, typing back 'yh, clueless asf’. "He takes you to get fast food at three in the morning and walks you to your lectures. That’s boyfriend material if I ever saw it.“

'When is she gonna realise?’

'idk lol’

"But he deserves to be taking me places!” You argue. “He should be making it up to me after treating me like crap.”

“I’m starting to think you need therapy for all this childhood resentment you carry around, babes,” she locks her phone and turns to face you. 

“Therapy isn’t going to help me,” you pull a face. “He wants me at his football game next weekend. He’s saying I have to wear his sweater.”

You pull at the grass unhappily while Nabi stares. 

“Oh my god,” she breathes out, “he’s so whipped.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing, babes.” She smiles at you, nice and easy, which you return in a much more naive fashion.

“Honestly,” you sigh, raking a hand through your hair when a slight breeze picks up. “It’s getting more and more difficult to not hate him. He doesn’t actually do anything mean anymore. He even tried to apologise to me yesterday, about what happened when we were younger.”

“That's terrible,” she deadpans, but you remain clueless to her sarcasm.

Something behind Nabi catches your attention and you raise a hand to shield your eyes from the sun. “Is that Yoonoh?”

She turns to follow your gaze, making out a figure in the distance.

“I dunno, babes. They’re too far away.”

“Nah, that's definitely him,” you sigh, grabbing your back and getting to your feet. “I’m sorry but I have to go. Yoonoh and I are going to the movies.”

Nabi blinks. “So, like a date?”

“A date?” You look at her weirdly. “Of course not, I’m making him pay- have you been listening to me.”

“Avidly, babes.” She bites on her bottom lip to stop a grin forming. “Go have fun, I’ll find Yerim or something.”

“Okay, see you later,” you give her a wave before walking off, and the older girl watches as you meet Yoonoh in the middle. He throws an arm around you and you duck away from him, running ahead while he follows closely behind. Slowly, she lifts her phone up and takes a video of the two of you, making a mental note to send it to Yoonoh later tonight.


	11. sinners ; n.yt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You hate him, with all your heart.

-

The bass pounds throughout the club, thumping through your feet and vibrating around your head. If you were drunk, then you suppose you wouldn’t notice it, but you were deadly sober with a headache on its way.

All around you people are dancing, heads tilted in euphoria as they sway to the beat, some reaching out to try and lure you into the fray. You refuse each time, panic coursing through you as you push past them.

You had lost him.

There had only been a two-minute period when you had stepped away under the pretence he would behave. Clearly, you were wrong, because when you went back to the booth he was nowhere to be seen.

Since then you had searched all of the ground floors, including the back door and the toilets. You couldn’t find him anywhere which could only mean one thing: he had left, or he had wormed his way into the VIP area.

You look up, past the flashing lights and to the first floor where the elite are sitting on in plush leather booths, enjoying bottles of the most expensive alcohol the club has to offer. It is as you’re scanning their faces that your eyes meet his.

He’s already watching you, two women attached to his sides, with a dark look in his eyes. The people around him seem unbothered by his presence, meaning he’d probably lured one of those ladies into letting him up there.

Your anxiety grips you by the throat once again and all you can do is stare helplessly up at him, feeling as insignificant as an ant. The woman on the left noses his neck while the other preens over his dark suit, heady eyes rising to admire his black hair.

If he kills either one of them, it’ll be your fault.

-


	12. sinners #2 ; n.yt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You hate him, with all your heart.
> 
> But if he had a heart, would he hate you too?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW // assault, attempted robbery, violence, implied gore, let me know if i’ve missed any.

-

You blame him, always.

“Get off me,” you struggle against the man who has your wrists clamped to his chest. His cologne invades your senses, clouds your judgement and you hate how you’re stiff, unable to break away.

No-one is around, there is no hero to help you. The club had been an oasis of life but outside, in the real world, people were either asleep or working into the early hours of the morning. You were on your own.

“Please,” you hate how your voice trembles as you once again try to pull against the man. He doesn’t relent, dragging you until you’re up against a wall, and your head throbs at the impact.

“Stop struggling,” he grunts, holding you tighter, forcing your left wrist to join your right in a single grasp so he can press his knife closer to your skin. Your tears run freely down your face, a sob stuck in your throat, and all you can do is close your eyes, praying for it to be over.

There’s a sickening crack that causes you to flinch involuntarily and the sound that follows after it sounds nothing short of animalistic. It’s a cry for pain at its most basic instinct.

It’s come from the man, you realise, as his grip on you slackens, then disappears altogether.

When you open your eyes, he’s on the floor, and the shape that his right arm is in has you looking away instantly before your mind can fully process it. 

There’s movement in front of you, a hand grabbing the man’s collar, dragging him whining and writhing backwards, feet kicking out desperately. Your dry mouth sours while you feel the unpleasant urge to retch but instead, you keep your eyes on your saviour.

His hair has fallen into his face, obscuring his eyes, but the way in which he throws the man into the other wall like a ragdoll displays his barely contained anger like an open book.

“Yuta,” you whisper his name like a prayer through trembling lips. There’s hardly any volume to your voice but you know he hears you; his body stiffens and he stops dead in his tracks.

There’s silence, only broken by the man’s pained moans and feeble, raspy sobs. Yuta still has his back to you but his head is turned to the side. He’s listening.

“Please,” you murmur, fresh tears dripping down your face and piling on your bottom lip. You lift a trembling hand to smear them away, dropping your gaze to the floor.

He needs to make a choice: give in to his instincts and tear the man to shreds in the most painful way possible, or come to your aid.

It comes as a surprise when he does the latter.

“I’ll kill him,” he promises softly, chin resting against your temple as he embraces you gently, letting your tears fall onto his crisp black suit. He handles you like you’re a doll, fragile, keeping you close until he’s sure you can stand on your own.

“Please don’t,” you clutch his jacket tightly as if it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. Your eyes are open now, almost unblinking save for when more tears spring up. If you close them you’ll see the man’s face up close again and you don’t think you can stomach that.

“Home, then,” he hums gently, arm around your shoulders as you begin to walk. You press closer to him to drown out the man’s anguished cries.

“This is all your fault,” you voice your earlier thoughts, voice catching in your throat. “I hate you.”

“I know,” he murmurs, pressing your face to rest near his non-existent heart. “I know.”

-


	13. petals ; w.kh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hendery is never as discreet as he thinks he is.

-

“Hendery,” you call out.

Summer has graced your little city apartment. Though the fumes that leak from the exhausts of car pipes beat down the weeds that push through the cement, and the hanging baskets clinging onto streetlamps wilt and die without the rain, you like to think your flat is a safe haven for nature. The aloe vera that stands proud by the kitchen window is a stark contrast to the other colours of the room, vibrant green drawing your attention as soon as the door is pushed open.

There’s something oddly ironic about how, when you glance at your little plant, you can hear the soft mechanical whirr, nothing more than a whisper yet you’ve grown so accustomed to hearing it, in the background. A second later and Hendery appears in the doorway, dark eyes lighting up at the sight of you as if you’ve been gone far longer than a few hours.

“Y/N!” He parrots back to you, entering the room fully and blocking your aloe vera from view. “How was work.”

“It was good,” you survey your kitchen one last time, double-checking, before smiling at your android companion softly. When you were younger you had been convinced your later life would consist of only yourself, but Hendery had clattered into your life in a big cardboard box and an even bigger smile and ruined your plans in the best type of way.

“So,” before you can reach the cupboards Hendery is already there, filling up the kettle and grabbing a mug. so naturally that anyone else would think he ran off of oxygen too. “I was talking to Aaron earlier.”

Hendery’s lips pull downward slightly at the mention of your downstairs neighbour. It just about affirms your suspicions and you sling your bag onto the table and take a seat, watching him work.

“Did he say anything interesting?” There’s a faux light-heartedness to Hendery’s tone, the same one he uses when he’s mad at you but pretends not to be. You smile into your hand.

“No, but he did give me a bunch of flowers to put in the kitchen. Since, y'know, he knows I like flowers.”

“Really?” Hendery hums, watching the kettle as it begins to boil. The coffee powder is already spooned into the mug and he taps the utensil against the ceramic impatiently.

“Hendery,” you smile wider, “where are the flowers?”

The tapping stops and the kettle stills.

“Flowers?” Hendery parrots, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Really?” You swing off your chair and move past him into the kitchen, Hendery freezing when you glide past him before coming to life and pouring the hot water into the cup. When his eyes catch onto what you’re doing he can only race to slam down the kettle, coffee forgotten as his eyes widen and he reaches for you. But it’s too late.

“Hendery,” you sing-song, looking down at the contents in the trash. His eyes follow an escaping petal as it flutters to the floor and his apologia forms on the tip of his tongue.

“Why are Aaron’s flowers in the trash?”

-


	14. superyou ; n.yt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something tells you that you are in the wrong profession.

-

Somehow, you have become a sidekick to a superhero.

“Don’t move, Y/N!” Yuta roars, struggling to be heard over the gusts of wind that are being thrown his way. The wind that whips around him causes his hair to stand up as if he has a halo, exposing his dark undercut that matches perfectly with his black outfit. Despite all this, his mask is still in place, obscuring his identity from the general public and allowing him to see straight without having to worry about the beads of water in his eyes, unlike you. In fact, any other person would have been blown off the rooftop, but Yuta stands strong, unyielding against the extreme elements.

“Why would I move?!” You howl furiously, clinging onto the satellite pole for dear life. Below you, Whirlwind (the villain hellbent on wiping Yuta’s existence off the face of the earth) directs his attention your way, sending up another vicious blast of air that is strong enough to cause the metal you are hanging off of to creak and groan. You clutch at it tighter until your cheek is squished against the cold metal while, like Yuta, your hair is whipped about.

If you’d have known today was going to turn out like this, you would have worn your hair in a ponytail.

“I’m coming!” Yuta shouts. Out of the corner of your eye you see him start to move slowly towards you, despite the fact he has to fight against the wind to take even one step forward.

You had never seen someone use the wind to harm others until Whirlwind had appeared and Yuta was sent to fight him. Though as soon as you had arrived on the scene it was clear Yuta had met his match. Whirlwind was running circles around him and had only stopped because you had stupidly decided to distract the villain, which was now resulting in him attacking you.

“Don’t save me!” You cry frantically, eyeing up the figure on the ground. “Just beat the crap out of him!”

As if he’s heard you, the villain extends a hand and you can see the wind race towards you, ready to send you hurtling into the air.

You close your eyes, bracing for impact, but it never comes. Something slams into you with so much power that you lose your grip on the pole and tear through the sky. As the wind howls loudly in your ear, you realise that Yuta has jumped off the rooftop and grabbed you just before the wind could hit you, therefore saving you from falling to your death.

Nevertheless, you fall anyway. Yuta crashes onto the ground, shielding you from being hurt by taking in the brunt of the impact although it brings him to his knees.

“You okay?” He peers at you worriedly, arms still tight around your body and all you can do is nod, trying not to throw up due to the altitude change. 

You want to say more, maybe yell at him for his reckless behaviour, but something moving behind him catches your eye and you begin frantically slapping his arm, trying to find the words to tell him to run.

Luckily, Yuta turns slightly, eyebrows raising as he realises what’s happening. All of a sudden you are being dragged off again, but this time you can see a lethal gust of wind hit where you were just standing.

“You need to do something,” you wheeze when the two of you take shelter behind a building, struggling to get out of Yuta’s embrace in order to stand on your own two feet. “Get a streetlamp and smack him with it- anything will help at this rate.”

“You think I haven’t tried?” Yuta growls under his breath, peeking anxiously out of the alleyway and leaping backwards just before a howling tornado is sent his way.

“Get backup then!” You snarl. “I bet Seastorm is sitting on his lazy ass watching reruns of Brooklyn Nine-Nine, or something.”

“What’s that water-bending idiot going to do?” Yuta rolls his eyes from under the mask. “Make it rain? Will we get a cyclone, then?”

“Well why don’t you think of something, genius!” You snarl, grabbing his arm and beginning to run again. “I’m technically- huff -a civillian! I’m not qualified for this!”

“I bet you’re qualified enough to get out your phone and call someone, idiot!” Yuta hisses.

“You’re the superhero!”

“And I clearly need backup!” Yuta skids to a stop, surveying his surroundings before putting his hands on your shoulders. “Look, get somewhere safe and start calling in the gang. I’m going to distract him.”

Despite your annoyance, you give him a firm nod, slipping into a more professional mindset.

“Got it,” you tell him firmly. “Get up high and then go for some short-range attacks. Hand-to-hand combat is your best bet. Minimise the damage, because cleanup is going to have a field day at this rate.”

“See you on the other side,” Yuta gives you a half-hearted salute, jogging backwards before bracing himself and leaping impossibly high into the air, landing on a roof and disappearing from your sight.

The wind whips up again. You sigh, and open up your phone.

-


	15. it's a long, long way to ba sing se ; w.yh + 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A firebender, earthbender and waterbender walk into a bar...

-

Usually, you do not mind the heat that comes with the sun. After all, you have revelled in it for twenty long years. Your childhood was spent with that ever-burning ball of fire beating down on your back. You have travelled the world and seen the sun in its every shape and form. Being under its immortal gaze is what you thrive off of. It is what powers you.

But you cannot _stand_ the desert.

The three of you walk in a single line. The waterbender leads with the map in his hands while the earthbender trudges along in the middle. You had suspected that he would be at home in the desert, given his bending, but he was proving to be nothing but a pain. A useless pain.

Then there was you, bringing up the rear whilst also babysitting the oversised manchild in front of you. You had heard many tales of the infamous earthbender, many _impressive_ tales. So when he had decided to drink cactus juice, you had been less than impressed.

But the Fire Lord is never wrong in his judgement, so every time the earthbender’s step falters and you wish to scorch his feet as a punishment, you have to resist. Mutilating a comrade, _especially_ one the Fire Lord has requested you work with, is a thought you cannot afford to entertain.

Unlike the earthbender, one of the things that you pride yourself on is your discipline. You are the one that succeeds where others fail, after all, that is why you were chosen for this job. But not even your strong morals and unyielding spirit can stop you from asking:

“How much longer?”

The waterbender squints at the map he holds in his hands. “About three miles to go.”

“Three miles until what?” The earthbender pipes up.

“Three miles until we get to Ba Sing Se.”

“Why would we want to go to Ba Sing Se?”

Ten, the waterbender, whirls around to look at you in exasperation. “Is this guy fucking stupid, or what?”

You regard him with annoyance. Not even being stuck in a desert with a compromised earthbender would make you like him.

“He drank the cactus juice. What do you think?”

He narrows his eyes. “That wasn’t my fault.”

“I didn’t say it was,” your lip curls in distaste as your opposing nature flares up against his. You are unused to working with waterbenders. “But if you are going to have a problem working with us, I do not see how we will be able to capture the Avatar alive. The Avatar who, might I add, is already in Ba Sing Se, and who probably already has the support of the Earth King.”

“The Earth King isn’t a problem,” Ten turns away from you and carries on walking. “But if _you_ keep talking like you’re a robot, then we won’t even make it past the checks at the gates.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Your voice hardens as you glare at his back and suppress the urge to launch your bag at him.

“I mean,” he waves a hand carelessly, still not looking at you, “if you want to actually succeed in impressing your precious Fire Lord, you should try to act a little less Fire-Nation-like. They’ll see right through you.”

“Now, guys,” Yukhei blabbers uneasily, sensing the unrest that sizzles around the two of you. “Let’s try to get along. No getting-along, no gold, remember?”

He’s begun to stagger out of your little line, shifting anxiously from side to side. You pay him no mind.

“ _I_ have pride in my nation. Unlike _you_ ,” is your reply. “Perhaps if you showed more promise with your abilities and more strength in your resolve, you would not be branded as a traitor. _Maybe_ , if you had enough prowess to rise up in your tribe’s ranks, you could have defended your people. Maybe, had you not _failed_ , you would have been able to save-”

You narrowly avoid the whip of water that comes cracking down where you had once stood. It is by instinct that you move out of the way, leaping back and finding your footing instantly, even in the coarse sand. Your blood sings in anticipation of a fight and in retaliation, you swing your arm into a wide arc, sending a blazing ring of fire his way. Yukhei darts to the side to avoid the combat and watches on, helpless.

You do not worry as the two of you trade blows. In the desert, waterbending is almost powerless, while the heat and humidity strengthens your bending tenfold. It’s easy to see that Ten is struggling, trying not to use too much of the water in his canteen. Unlike you, his bending is currently limited.

A cruel part of you wants to beat him down and make him submit, to make him recognise his powerlessness in the face of you. After all, the Fire Nation has defeated his people before. And you can do it again.

But you won’t. You can’t.

As quickly as it has come you drop your hands and let the anger fade, breathing deeply to center yourself. You can’t afford to fight, not when so much is on the line.

You bow your head a fraction.

“I apologise. It was not in my place to insult you or your tribe. Let us continue to Ba Sing Se.” Your apology is laced with bitterness, but that doesn’t stop your sincerity. You cannot afford to be fighting with your partners, not at a time like this.

The waterbender says nothing for a moment, looking for a sign of an oncoming attack, chest heaving up and down due to the exertion of fighting in the desert. Then, he gives a sharp nod, turning on his heel and marching onwards.

You meet Yukhei’s eyes and he looks at you long and hard, before turning and following Ten. Something inside you stings, perhaps the feeling of being shunned, or the embarrassment at your harsh words, or even anger at the fact that these people had the gall to judge you.

But no matter what it is, you school yourself, forcing calmness into your mind again as you watch the two of them go with cold, apathetic eyes. Only when they have fully turned their backs on you do you resume you place at the rear, the three of you continuing forward in silence

-


	16. gold dust ; d.sc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sicheng has a surprise for you.

-

It wasn’t like you to be adventurous. Everything in your life was deeply planned.

From the minute you woke up to the moment your head hit the pillow, you knew the next steps you would take, whether it be going from work back to your apartment or from your dead-end job back to college, everything was in place.

So why were you following Sicheng’s cryptic instructions after your 12-hour shift?

The soles of your feet ache as you walk down the street. You know you should have gone to your apartment to wash up before heading out, but you were too curious for your own good, bag slung over your shoulders as you navigate your way to the address Sicheng gave you.

That was literally it. An address. 

You would never understand your billionaire friend and honestly, you didn’t plan to. Yours and Sicheng’s relationship was like a yoyo: one minute you would be having some exotic meal in the most expensive restaurant in the city, the next you would be in your apartment binging Netflix with him.

So why was he sending you to some fancy downtown street?

The address has apartment 23 on it and upon finding yourself coming close to the building you catch sight of a doorman. Figuring Sicheng has bought himself a new apartment, you show the doorman the text who nods like he’s been expecting you, and ushers you in.

There’s a moving company bustling around the lobby, trying to cram large boxes into the elevators while you opt to squeeze past them and climb up all 23 flights. You didn’t mind the walk.

He hadn’t mentioned moving, but you supposed Sicheng was quite a spontaneous guy. From what you knew he had places all over the globe that he flew to either for a holiday or for work. Maybe he was opening up a new company branch this side of the city and needed a place to crash?

You brush the thought from your mind. You didn’t know nearly enough about business to know if that was a likely explanation or not.

As you had suspected, the moving company is piling in and out of apartment 23, which, to your surprise, takes up the whole floor. The stairs lead to a singular wide hallway with a door at the end of it that is wide open.

Upon entering, you can’t help but marvel at the design choice Sicheng has made. The walls are a lovely cream colour, abstract paintings hanging delicately on the wall and a chandelier taking up most of the ceiling. The kitchen is wide and spacious, various men stacking the cupboards with fine china and cutlery. There’s a living area with a huge television on one wall and a built-in fireplace on the other.

The sofas are too expensive to look at so you wander into the two en-suite bedrooms, catching sight of the baths, showers and steam rooms. The beds themselves have huge, soft throws decorating the silk sheets. As you reach out to touch them, two ladies come through the door, carrying another television.

“Where do you want this, Miss?” One of them calls to you. 

You’re unsure of how to respond. Would Sicheng mind if you pitch in with his decor options? Probably not. You open your mouth to respond.

“Just in the middle of the wall please ladies.”

You are cut off by a smooth, deep voice and find yourself turning to see Sicheng walk in, clad in a crisp black suit that contrasts his messy hairstyle and tired eyes. 

“Sorry,” he apologises to you, “I just got out of an emergency meeting. I had planned to be here before you.”

“It’s fine,” you reply, smiling and trying to take your mind off how good he looks in that suit. “Did you need help moving anything?”

Sicheng frowns adorably, looking confused. “Moving stuff? Why would I need your help with that? We have a moving team- oh,” he looks at you excitedly, breaking out into an excited grin. “Have you looked around yet?”

“Obviou-” you don’t get much further before he gently takes your hand in his and tugs you out of the room.

“I didn’t know how to style most of the place, so I just hired a few interior designers,” he blabbers excitedly, gesturing to the kitchen.

“It looks really nice-”

“And the main room,” he cuts you off again, pulling you along. “They did a good job here, It’ll be nice in the evenings. Have you seen the balcony?” He turns to you.

“There’s a balcony?”

Once again, Sicheng whisks you out of the room and onto the balcony, which you had walked past. It gives you a fantastic view of the city but you are drawn to the large infinity pool with a hot tub right next to it. How much did Sicheng pay for this?

“Hey,” he squints, gazing out onto the city, “I think I can see your work from here.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” you murmur, still blinking in amazement at the crystal clear water. The night sky reflects beautifully off of it and the sight of the moon reminds you of the time. You should be in bed by now.

“Hey, Sicheng?” He turns to you. “Why am I here? I really need to be heading back-”

“Did you not bring a spare change of clothes?” He pouts. “I thought I told you to- nevermind. I’m sure the fashion designers have filled the draws.”

“Why would I be sleeping over?” You ask him, confused. He mirrors your expression.

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“What are you talking about?” Your confusion turns into trepidation as you laugh nervously. 

Sicheng frowns, also puzzled. “You tell me, Y/N. I would’ve thought you would have already asked some of the men to go and get your stuff.”

“Sicheng-”

“Do you not like the place?” He presses on. “I thought it was close enough to your shitty job that you didn’t need a car, but there’s a few in the garage downstairs just in case. I’ve never seen you drive so there’s a couple in there for you to test drive when you’re ready," 

You gape at him while he continues. "And I hope you don’t mind but I sort of filled the spare room with all my things, in case we wanted to watch more Netflix together. Speaking of, I added that Disney plus thing and the Amazon channel, as well as a few more, so we can stay up even later and watch them in the main room-”

“Dong Sicheng,” you cut him off sternly. “What are you talking about? Why are you acting like this is my new house or something?”

He blinks at you. “Because it is?”

“What?”

“I forgot to tell you,” he realises slowly, hands coming up to cover his mouth. He shrinks even further away from you when he sees your stormy expression.

“… Surprise?”

-


	17. dawn ; l.ty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In all eyes but yours, he is a disgrace.

-

The warmth of daylight rouses you awake. That, and a pair of hands that slide over your body softly, exposing your soft skin to the cold of the morning.

It’s early. Dawn is just creeping over the horizon, letting tendrils of sun snake over the land. The frosty morning chill left over from the night is still in place, misting up the windows, and it is only when the sheets are pulled back do you fully feel the nip of the cold.

You roll away in protest, back under the warmth, away from the hands. There’s only one person it can be.

“Taeyong,” you sigh out.

“ _Careful,_ ” he whispers, with a voice so sweet you could melt into his words. “Saying my name like that is blasphemous, babe. You’ll go straight down to Hell.”

You smile into your pillow, stretching into the sheets.

“What will you do?”

“What will I do, when?” He hums.

“If I go to Hell.”

“Let’s see…” His fingers tiptoe after you, like a bee searching for honey, skimming over your skin until his lips find the back of your neck. Placing a soft kiss there, he holds you close, and begins to trace an unknown language onto your abdomen, fingertips light as if he were writing calligraphy.

“Well first,” he hums, and you can feel the vibrations, “I would have to convince them to let me down there.”

“Oh yeah?” You bite down on your lips to stop a smile. He stops tracing for a moment and squeezes you tighter, inhaling softly.

“Yeah,” he releases you and resumes his work. “Then I’d have to come and find you. I don’t know where you’d be, maybe with the liars? Or maybe you’d be right down on the bottom level for corrupting someone as _holy_ as me.”

“Tae-,” you whine, turning around and looping your arms around his neck, though your smile doesn’t leave your face. His eyes are almost golden in the morning light, gazing at you with such a soft intensity that you can’t help but think: _yes, this is what it’s like to be loved._

“Then I’d break you out.” He continues, nuzzling into your wrist and taking your hand in his. “Breaking all the rules in the process. Maybe I would be the one to lie, and pretend I was going to torture you myself. Then, I guess, you’d have to become a demon of some sort. Mortals who leave the Underworld don’t get very far so we’d have to find a loophole.”

“You’ve got it all planned out,” you chide, running your free hand through his hair. He leans into the gesture, closing his eyes in euphoria and exhaling gently. The smile on his face is like the first sign of spring, warm and welcome.

“But what if I go to Heaven?” You counter, watching the way his eyes open again and he blinks a few times before coming to focus on you. It’s such a human action that you smile wider still, teeth on display. Taeyong drinks in your sign of affection, eyes so tender and full of love that it makes you want to cry. 

In moments like these, your love goes beyond expression, beyond words. You are content with the peace, content to just drink him up until your lover is all you know. You can never get enough of Taeyong.

“Then I guess I’d have to get on my knees and beg.” He whispers back.

-


	18. it takes two to tango ; p.js

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All he had wanted to do was go to his class.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm taking (chrismas) requests over on my tumblr! 
> 
> warnings: mentions of cheating, jisung gets a shoe thrown at him, swearing

-

Jisung has never been cheated on before.

He’s never been in that sort of situation, honestly. Between juggling college, the football team and his lovely, adorable _ex-_ girlfriend Sana, the thought never crossed his mind. Sure, Sana was outgoing, confident, easy-to-get-along-with and took an interest to strangers, but he never had a problem with that. That was just Sana.

So why did she have to go and fuck _you?_

Evidently, you think it’s the other way around.

“You piece of- _shit!_ ” He dodges a shoe being launched at his head. “This is why I don’t date guys!”

He watches you act out your little temper tantrum curiously, hoisting his backpack higher on his shoulder and fidgeting nervously. He has class in half an hour.

He’d noticed you from all the way across the field, a little, petite ball of fire that he had realised only too late was heading his way.

“You think she cared about you, you little piece of shit?!” You bellow. “Think again!”

“You’re acting as if this is _my_ fault.” He tries to reason with you, bemused. Should he shout back? Say sorry? Walk away? After all, he’s been hurt too.

You pause at that, drawing yourself up and looking him up and down.

“Well, when was your first date with her then?”

“July 16th,” he replies automatically.

Your mouth curls into a cruel smirk and Jisung hates the way he’s like a lost puppy, eyes glued to you. All hope is lost for him (and Sana, apparently, because he can see why she liked you).

“May 9th, sucker.” You stick your tongue out. “You’re the other man.”

“Whatever.” He frowns. “Why are you coming to yell at me?”

“Don’t act so dumb!” That obviously sets you off again as you stomp your foot. Jisung wrinkles his nose. You’re adorable.

“I’m not acting, I’m just confused.”

“You seduced a woman in a relationship!”

“I didn't know she was in a relationship!” He sighs, unclear as to how much more obvious he can make it. “Look-” he dishes out his phone and opens up Tinder, beckoning you closer. You shuffle over cautiously, giving him the stink-eye all the while, and he has to try not to coo over how tiny you are next to him.

“See?” He shows you the messages where Sana introduces herself as single. “I had no idea. I still didn’t until this morning.”

“That little- _Whatever._ Sorry.” You spit out the word as if it physically pains you to do so, teeth grinding together before you clench your fists and storm away, not even sparing him a second glance.

“Where are you going?” He calls out.

“To wreck her car,” you raise a hand up, lazily beckoning him to follow. “Wanna join?”

He pictures you with a baseball bat- no, better yet, a _crowbar_.

Jisung has nothing to lose. He’s already lost his girlfriend and his class started five minutes ago.

“Wait for me!” He calls.

-


	19. latex ; w.yh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robot or not, you won’t let anything mess up Yukhei’s fashion walk. (he won’t let anyone stop you, either).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an old request from 2020 I forgot to publish, sorry!

-

“Five minutes till they walk, Y/N!” Kun calls to you as he walks by, sounding far too happy for your liking.

“ _Shit,_ ” you swear softly, circling your model and trying to keep the panic out of your voice.

You _hate_ latex. Especially when it was on the bottom half of a model. A male model.

“Is everything alright?”

You look up to see Yukhei is watching you carefully in the mirror, trying to figure out your expression. He looks stunning, dark hair pressed flat against his forehead while his muscled chest has been left untouched except for a diamond belt that settles low on his hips. After that are the latex pants that just. Won’t. Budge.

He can’t walk like this.

You break your gaze away from Yukhei and slap on a false smile, the type you usually reserve only for the annoying press. Unbeknownst to you, Yukhei’s eyes narrow.

“Everything’s fine, don’t worry.” You assure him. Despite Yukhei being an android, you know he’s well-equipped with a range of emotions, so the last thing you want to do is get him nervous when he’s minutes away from walking on the catwalk at Seoul Fashion Week. Your _first_ Seoul Fashion Week, for both of you.

The latex may look fine to a novice, but it doesn’t sit right at the hips and because of this it doesn’t show off Yukhei’s perfect body proportions properly, therefore ruining the whole look. But it just won’t move now you’ve got it on and the more you tug the worse it gets.

“Can I _please_ touch him up now?” The makeup artist hovering around you snaps. You can’t blame him, he’s been waiting for ten minutes. 

Resisting the urge to tug your hair, you exhale a sigh and step away, allowing the man to swoop in and finish his work. It isn’t like Yukhei _needs_ makeup on but you can’t deny he looks stunning in it.

“I’ll be back soon,” you smile at him and he returns it happily. There’s something about his big, dopey grin that reassures you as you walk away, winding in and out of the stylists busy attending to their own models. At least Yukhei didn’t kick up a fuss when things went wrong. You look at the android Kim Doyoung, who’s chewing nervously on his lips (a habit you don’t know how he’s picked up) and try to remind yourself things could be a lot worse.

As expected, there are many famous faces at Seoul Fashion Week. When you’d gotten the invitation, hand-delivered even though your company is based in Hong Kong, you had screamed so loud that Yukhei had almost kicked down a door to get to you.

Like most of the world, the fashion industry has been overtaken by the creation- or rather _invention_ -of androids. Why would you want to go and search for faces when you could craft one perfectly to your tastes?

Nevertheless, there are some living legends sitting at the dressing tables you walk by such as Lee Taeyong, human visual extraordinaire. 

It’s not just the models, you’ve noticed a few stylists and coordinators aren’t human too. It puts you on edge sometimes, knowing your job could be snatched from you at any moment (you can’t imagine how Taeyong feels) but you’re proud of the fact you are one of Hong Kong’s finest. For the most part though, your co-workers are human.

Take Liu Yangyang for example, the newest addition to the _Weishen V_ _Agency,_ or your good friend and partner Wong Kunhang, who is currently finishing off Jung Yoonoh’s outfit by clipping dangling emeralds into his ears.

He is the guy you need, but it’s clear he’s otherwise engaged.

The rookie will have to do then.

“Yangyang,” you call to him, trying to emit _nothing-is-wrong_ vibes, “can you come here a second?”

“Sure,” He bounds over, seemingly happy to be of service, “what’s up, Y/N?

You relay the news to him, watching his face scrunch up into confusion.

"But,” he glances over your shoulder to where Yukhei is, “it looks fine from here?”

“But when you get closer it looks crap,” you rant, “and from the _back_ -”

You’re so preoccupied with your mini-rant that you don’t see Yangyang’s eyes widen in horror.

“If I let him walk like that everyone will see it and I’ll lose my job, so can you help me adjust it? I think I need more muscle than just myself.”

“Too late for that.”

“What do you _mean-_ ” You turn around to see what he’s so taken with and suppress a scream.

Yukhei is gone.

Or rather, he’s being ferried away by the coordinators, his head sticking out above them like a tree due to his height and searching frantically for you.

You don’t think, just grabbing Yangyang’s hand and surging forward to go and retrieve him. You are _not_ going to let Yukhei make a fool of himself because of your ineptness.

Yukhei lets out an ’ _oof_ ’ as you push him into the storage room and away from the crowd of models getting ready to walk. No-one notices or rather, if they did, no-one stops you.

“Just got to _one more_ quick check,” you chirp to him, unaware of how his gaze is directed straight at yours and Yangyang’s hands. The latter does, though, and let’s go as if burned.

“Turn around and grab onto something,” you command him and he nods, grabbing onto a rack and bracing himself. You can’t help but admire his broad back and the way it flexes until Yangyang appears in your vision, ready to help you.

You have no choice but to stick your hands down the pants and _yank._ Evidently, this is new to Yangyang, who stares at you in horror.

“Is this legal?” He asks.

“Shut up and help,” you snap at him.

“I thought it looked a bit loose!” Yukhei tries to lighten the mood although it pains you to tell him to shut up.

“Suck in for me, Yukhei.”

“You got it!”

At long last the latex lays straight, clinging to him perfectly. But there’s no time for you to admire your work because the show has started. 

“You’ve got this,” you stare at Yukhei, pointing to his chest. “You’re the best model I know. You’re going to kill it.”

He lights up at your praise before swooping down and wrapping his arms around you. It’s a pre-walking ritual the two of you have always done but you’ll never get used to the feeling of Yukhei’s bare body against your own. When he pulls away, you’re blushing.

“Walk straight, don’t smile,” you pat his arm before gently pushing him out the room and letting him take his place in the line. The coordinator looks relieved and you can’t blame her because only a second later, Yukhei is out there, strutting confidently to the beat of the music.

“Good save,” Yangyang murmurs as the two of you watch him thrive under toe silver lights, and you wordlessly lift your hand up for him to high-five.

Yukhei’s second look thankfully isn’t latex but as you go to get it ready you can’t help but overhear a conversation between two models. One is Ten, from your company, and the other is Yoonoh, both are waiting in line.

“Did you see how Yukhei glared at that makeup android earlier? No wonder the coordinators got him away quick.”

“Can you blame him?” Ten snorts, eyes looking dark and smokey thanks to his eyeliner. “All he’s been talking about is how he wants to impress Y/N at their first Fashion Week. I mean, she’s all he’s ever talking about.”

You turn away, realising their conversation probably wasn’t meant for your ears.

That doesn’t stop the heat from creeping up onto your face and a smile from overtaking your lips, though.

  
  
-


	20. game time ; m.l

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark enjoys winning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two drabbles for you guys today! Gosh, you're lucky. If you want to know more about my works, or even request something, head on over to my tumblr @lucaswithnoshirt.

-

Inside the gymnasium, the cheers echo.

It’s not even the last game of the season but the buzz from the crowd creates an electric atmosphere. From the speakers overhead comes a funky hip-hop track, hardly heard over the chatter of the crowd. The noise even reaches the locker rooms underneath and stadium and Mark can tell whenever the roster list shows on the big screen because the noise rises to a roar that snaps him out of his daydreaming.

Ten, the team’s shooting guard, clasps his shoulder and gives his captain a little shake.

“Are you seriously scared about playing the Gwangju Tigers?” He teases.

From across the room, Jeno, the power forward, snorts, arms folded as he joins in on the conversation. “Who wouldn’t be? I mean, have you seen their centre? Mark’s going to get wiped out.”

“Have some faith, idiot.” Sicheng smacks the younger boy on the back of the head and Jeno takes the blow without retaliation, dropping his head before grinning at his elder.

Despite the lighthearted pre-game chatter, Mark’s contemplative expression doesn’t ease up. Despite Ten’s best guess, he isn’t worried about their opponents. After all, he’s seen them play and while they definitely have some players to watch out for- giants like Johnny Suh and Wong Yukhei -the Seoul Dinosaurs (his team, the best team) is a perfectly crafted mixture of speed, strength and skill. He’s not worried in the slightest.

The only thing he is anxious about is his jacket.

Last night, when he should have been out psyching up his team or getting in some rest before the big game, he was with you. Leaving his roommate to his own devices he had arrived at your down and joined you under the dim glow of your bedroom light to watch you do your statistics reading. With your attention mainly focused on that, it had allowed him to wrestle with his feelings for a while, culminating with him handing over his precious basketball jacket, initials engraved on the back.

“You should wear it at my game tomorrow.” He’d murmured casually, before clearing his throat and staring determinedly out your window.

At the start of the year, things hadn’t been like this. Mark hadn’t been spending nights around you, he’d just been _obsessed_ with basketball. He still was in a sense, but back then he had his eyes on impressing the main scout for the Seoul national team, Moon Seungman. He’d made up his mind to eat, sleep and _breathe_ basketball.

And he was a good basketball player too. One of the best, in his opinion (and many others) and he wasn’t the worst in academics either.

But, he’d found out, Coach Moon was someone who preferred well-rounded players in terms of sports, academics and having a social life. It wasn’t enough to just be outstanding in basketball, you had to be outsounding in every aspect.

Mark had tried, but he knew from the very first scouting session that his height was a disadvantage. Coach Moon glossed over him without so much as a nod to his other skills and there was no way he could let his dream slip away

So if he needed a good social life to impress the coach, then that was what he was going to get.

Enter you. If there ever was a ‘model girlfriend’, you fit the bill to the T. Coach Moon preferred players who he could turn into idols. Ones with squeaky clean ledgers. With you by his side, Coach Moon would have no choice but to notice him.

So after some pursuing, begging- and finally, an agreement, the two of you began 'dating’. Like magic, as soon as Coach Moon had interviewed him and he’d mentioned you, he was back to having a fighting chance.

It was supposed to be like a contract. No feelings, no romance, just the two of you working together to achieve your goals. You were a stepping stone to helping him get onto the national team, and he was helping you prove to the rest of the campus you were well and truly over your girlfriend of five years.

Except somewhere along the way Mark had gotten lost. Extra hours shooting hoops had turned into long study sessions with you. Movie nights with his team had turned into quiet Sunday brunches with you down at the mall. Nights of dreaming about playing on an international court turned into wistful browsing of your social media.

And the night before the game, when you had looked at his jacket, with his number and surname printed on the back, and teasingly asking if you really _had_ to wear it, Mark had realised that there was absolutely no point in playing basketball if you weren’t there beside him.

“Dude,” Yangyang pokes him nervously. “You’re freaking us all out.”

Mark snaps out of it.

“Right! Sorry. Uh,” he glances at the time. In fifteen minutes their names will be announced and they will be jogging out onto the court. “Guys, let’s huddle.”

-

After having watched a good few basketball games now, you’ve come to realise that common sense seems to go out the window once spectators take their seats.

“Watch it!” You jerk to the left, narrowly avoiding someone flailing their drink around and hastily checking the sides Mark’s jacket to see if any has been spilt on the fabric. It hasn’t, thank god, and you wrap it tighter around the as you make your descent down the aisles.

Mark’s jacket is a little too big on you but you’ve come to accept that that’s part of its appeal. Your friends have already teased you about wearing someone else's jacket but by now you just can’t bring yourself to care. There’s something about the way people do a double-take as you pass them by that makes you feel electric. It is this same feeling that pushes you on, forces you- with some newfound courage -to find Mark and tell him everything you’ve been trying to keep a secret.

Honesty and courage don’t come naturally to you. As someone who runs on bravado and confidence, constantly in a social battle to stake your claim on top of the popularity pyramid, Mark Lee should scare you. After all, you’ve witnessed how far he’ll go to achieve what he wants and whenever he steps out on the court it’s like he’s fighting for his life. The desire to win in sport and the desire to regain your peers’ respect are two different things, but the two of you have somehow bonded along the way.

The door to the locker rooms is hard to find. At one point, a security guard tries to barr you access, but a flash of Mark’s jacket has them stepping aside. The further you go down, the more muffled the noise from the stands seems. The silence gives you time to think, to mull over just what exactly you’re doing down here.

You can’t quite find the answer. All you do know is that you need to see Mark before this game- his big game (as someone in the stands wouldn’t shut up put it) and let him know-

Let him know what? What are you going to say?

There’s no time for that now. You can hear voices from the room you’re currently outside though you can’t pick out Mark from them. Nevertheless, you raise your hand and knock.

A few seconds later, a familiar face peers out from around the opening door. It’s Lee Donghyuck, a friend of your fake-boyfriend who lights up upon seeing you.

“Gimme a sec.” He grins, before darting back inside. A minute later Mark comes out with a worried look on his face, eyes belatedly falling on you as he scans around.

You grin. “You expecting the coach or something?”

“No,” he defends immediately, before appraising your jacket. “Hey, you wore it!”

“I did.” You’re smiling like an idiot now, pleased he’s noticed. “You sure you don’t want it back?”

“No.” He says quickly. “No- I mean, keep it. It looks good. What, uh, what are you doing here?”

You hesitate for a moment. “I just wanted to wish you luck for the game. You probably don’t need it, but I wanted to anyway.”

“Oh,” Mark’s nose scrunches up before he gives a smile. “Thanks. It should be a tough one.”

“You shouldn’t worry.” You defend, surprised by the confidence and urgency in your voice. “You’ll beat them, Mark. They don’t stand a chance.”

“You think so?” He smiles wider this time and you nod eagerly. 

“Totally. Then we’ll go to a kick-ass afterparty my friends are organising and celebrate your victory”

“Thanks,” he giggles, before sobering up and clearing his throat. “Hey, listen-”

“Five minutes, Lee!” Someone calls from inside. His head whips around and he makes a sound of acknowledgement before turning back to face you, eyebrows furrowed.

“I should go,” you deduce quickly. “You probably need to, like, get into the headspace, right?”

“No!” Mark catches onto your wrist, then stares down at his own like he can’t believe he’s just done that. “I mean, can you wait? I just wanna say something.”

“Sure,” you nod, slightly anxious. Mark doesn’t exactly look confident right now, tongue in cheek as he, as you did moments ago, seems to try and search for words.

“You're wearing my jacket,” he finally blurts out, gesturing to it. “That means a lot to me. And I know we’re not really dating, but I just need to let you know you mean a lot to me.” He blinks. “Did I really just say that out loud? Oh man, that was weird. I’m sorr-”

“Mark,” you cut him off, a small smile appearing at his rambling. “It’s okay.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything-” He cuts himself off with a nervous laugh. “But I totally have, haven’t I?”

“Honestly?” You interrupt him and wait impatiently until he seems to centre himself, focusing on you. “Just shut up and kiss me.”

He blinks at you. “Like, right now? There’s no-one around. You know that right?”

“Do you want to miss your chance?” You raise an eyebrow as your smile grows wider, enamoured by his genuineness.

Your words seem to spark some urgency within him because he quickly steps closes, leaning down and taking your head in his hands gently, before doing exactly what you’d wanted him to do. Like himself, Mark’s kiss is raw and honest, conveying everything he’d fumbled to say. The sounds from the crowd above seem to disappear as you feel his urgency and desire. He’s the only thing you can focus on, from the feeling of his lips on yours to the smooth fabric of his uniform that is balled up in your hands.

You’re so absorbed by him you don’t even realise when he pulls away. It takes you a moment to regain yourself, breathing deeply while he steps away.

“Was that okay?” Mark croaks out, eyes searching yours in search of an answer.

“I can’t believe you’re asking me that.” You give a breathy laugh. “It was fine Mark. It was amazing. We should- we should do this for real.”

“What?” He furrows his eyebrows as he echoes you.

“Let me keep the jacket for real. Let’s kiss for real. Please,” you draw his lips back onto your own to convey your desperation. “Let’s date for real.”

Mark leans down and kisses you again but this time, you feel him smile against your lips.

“Did you seriously just say that?” He mumbles, before pulling away slightly. “That was so cheesy.”

“Shut up!” You snort, overcome by embarrassment, so much so you can’t help but shove him back. “Here, take the stupid jacket back then if you don’t want to! Forget I said anything.”

“No, no.” He giggles, grabbing your hand before you can get his clothes off you. “It was cute, it was cute, I swear. Listen-” he glances upwards. “I have to go, but we’ll talk about it later, okay?”

You nod. “Okay. Don’t tell anyone about this.”

He leans forward and kisses your forehead, before backing up and heading back through the door. “I won’t.” Then he catches himself, and just before he’s gone he sends a smile your way. “It’s a yes, by the way. Keep the jacket. No refunds or returns accepted.”

You burst out laughing, just as the door swings shut in front of you.

That game the Seoul Dinosaurs, with Mark Lee at the helm, make history.

-


	21. endearingly, not yours ; l.dh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He drives you up the wall, but you just can't drive him away. [requested]

-

There isn’t much to do after school on a Thursday. Usually, you would wander home and take a day off, or even head to the library to finish any homework that needed to be done. But today had been long and stuffy, leading you to just want to get out.

Your locker is next to the canteen, far away from the science building where you've just come from, but you don't mind the walk. It gives you time to pop in your earbuds and slip your phone into your pocket before a teacher can catch you.

When you do arrive and try to open your door, it won't budge. A frown forms on your face as you pull out your headphones and try again, this time pulling harder. Still, it doesn't move.

There's noise to your right, a snigger. When you turn your head, you find Lee Donghyuck leaned up against the lockers. A glance down shows you his foot pressed against your locker, preventing it from opening.

A disappointed sigh leaves your lips. "Why are you like this? Move your foot."

"Glad to see you too!" He grins back cheerfully, obliging with your request just as you give the handle another forceful tug. The excessive force causes you to stumble back, meeting Donghyuck’s hand as he tries to catch you.

"Careful," He chastises, just as you wriggle out of his grip. Now your locker is open you can start to gather your things, with Donghyuck coming to hover over your shoulder as you take your books out and lump them into your bag. "That's not very girlfriend-like."

"Neither is terrorising me and my locker," you retort, "but that doesn't stop you."

Lee Donghyuck is your boyfriend in name only. The reason as to why that is stands across the corridor from you, chatting to his friends.

"Let's go." Once the last book slips into your bag, Donghyuck takes the liberty of closing your locker for you and beginning to leave, not noticing you're rooted in place.

You watch as Na Jaemin laughs, the sight tugging painfully at your heartstrings. He leans down slightly, causing the girl in front of him to giggle nervously, and then tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. It's as if he's just taken your heart in his hands and crushed it.

"Hey." Donghyuck's annoyed voice snaps you out of it just as he comes back for you and yanks you forward, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and blocking your view of Jaemin. "If you keep staring at that idiot, it defeats the whole purpose of this."

You resist the urge to elbow him in the side, especially since you're in the middle of the hallway. "He didn't see me."

"Yeah." As the two of you navigate through the sea of students, he cranes his head down until his lips are almost touching the top of your ear. "But everyone else will. I don't want people saying my girlfriend is looking at other guys and you won't want everyone knowing your big fat crush on Jaemin isn't totally squished. Don’t go messing it up now."

This time you really do elbow him, feeling a white-hot lash of embarrassment lick at your skin. Donghyuck's honesty is something you both love and (especially at the moment) hate about him.

"Maybe if you hadn't leaked that," you hiss back at him, "then no-one would've found out."

He hums noncommittally, steering you around a group of laughing students. "If I'd have kept my mouth shut, you never would have agreed to tutor me."

"At least I'm not the one who hired a fake girlfriend because the thought of everyone knowing you needed a tutor was too much for your fragile ego to bear." You sneer back in response, trying to push his hand off you now the two of you are out of the school and descending the steps to the car park.

"Fine, we both have flaws." Donghyuck sighs. "Happy now? Are you going to be able to teach me algebra in peace? Or do I need to upload another selfie of us to Instagram?"

Donghuck's teasing ignites another round of fury in you, but this time it masks something much more delicate hiding within your heart. You're suddenly all too aware of his arm hanging around your shoulders, keeping you next to him and broadcasting to the world that you are exclusively his.

So, naturally, you shove it off you, because you would rather die than admit what you already know deep down.

"We can stop this now. No-one is looking."

"You don't wanna walk home arm-in-arm?" Donghyuck grins at your embarrassment and follows you teasingly, laughing when you dart back and speed up to reach the end of the steps.

"You're seriously too much sometimes, do you know that?” You snap at him. “You take it too far."

Then you flounce away while Donghyuck watches you go, an affectionate smile on his face. A few moments later, he follows, far enough to give you space but near enough to let you know he isn’t going anywhere.

"On the contrary," he calls after you, "I don't think I've gone far enough!"

-


	22. at midnight ; j.s

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Johnny is a vampire and you just want to wear his coat (and nothing else).

-

"I _hate_ winter." You curse softly, trampling on the thin layer of snow beneath your feet. It's a challenge not to slip but somehow, you manage

* * *

The man next to you says nothing, hands stuffed inside the deep, warm pockets of his trench coat. You're a stark contrast, having forgotten to put on anything other than a hoodie in your rush to get ready earlier. But now that it's cold and dark you're feeling the consequences of your actions, suppressing any shivers that threaten to arrive and burrowing your chin into your collar. If you were any less of a woman you would ask for his coat.

But this is Johnny Suh and you will not be begging for anything from him anytime soon.

Your apartment is only a few blocks away yet he'd insisted on walking you. In fact, he hadn't even insisted, just got his things and met you by the door in his typical, infuriating manner.

Why was he even wearing a coat in the first place? It wasn't like he needed one. You doubt he could even feel the cold.

Was it for appearances, then? But if that was the case, surely it would make sense for him to give it to you because that was the polite thing to do? Then again, Johnny had never been very polite to you.

"Stop thinking so hard."

His voice cuts through the silence like a knife, clear and accentuated, jolting you from your thoughts. 

Were you that easy to read? Embarrassed, you hang your head to try and conceal your expression, but it's probably too late now.

"I wasn't." You sulk, stamping harder into the snow.

"It's written all over your face." He counters. Then, in a more teasing tone, "You're so _easy_ to read."

"Shut up." Your lip curls as you sneer back at him. "Maybe I'm just thinking about how cold it is, huh? You ever think of that? That it's _cold_? No, because you don't even feel it."

You add as an afterthought: "I should've just taken a taxi."

Johnny briefly closes his eyes and sighs, tilting his head back. "You're not subtle, you know."

Like always, his insults grind under your skin.

"Excuse me!?" You explode, "I'm not _trying_ to be subtle-"

You're cut off when he drops his coat onto your head, leaving you spluttering underneath it. A moment later and his cold, slender fingers are deftly arranging it around you so it's put on properly. It's several sizes too big, hands disappearing inside the sleeves, but the warmth it provides is immediate.

He admires his handiwork with pursed lips. Underneath he's wearing nothing but a silk shirt, sleeves rolled up so can see his pale white skin and the exposed veins. Thankfully, he doesn't seem to catch you looking.

"I change my mind," he reaches out and flicks your forehead, gentle enough not to damage but forceful enough to hurt. "You look ugly in that."

Your mouth drops open and, stewing with rage, all you can think to do is kick his shin (as if that would hurt him) and storm off down the street, his annoying laugh ringing out behind you.

"I'm _joking_." He catches up in three long strides. "Jeez, Y/N, it was just a joke, don't get so wound up. You're warming up now, right?"

"No." You reply out of pure spite.

"Then," he nudges you and when you turn to look he's opened his arms, eyebrow raised and with some sort of victorious, cocky smile on his face, "want a hug?"

" _No_."

“Ouch.” He brushes off the rejection as if it were nothing more than a pinprick, yet his grin remains in place. “You wound me, gorgeous."

"You know what-" you try to shrug out of his coat, fumbling with the sleeves. "Take your stupid jacket back-"

"Hey, hey, hey," he soothes, clamping down on the front of it so you can't take it off. After struggling for a few seconds, you give up. There's no winning with him.

"I'm just _joking_ ," his thumb, resting on the collar, comes up to poke at your cheek and he grins when you jerk away, satisfied with the reaction. "Don't get cold."

Then he lets go experimentally, giving a pleased nod when you make no move to continue to take it off. "We're almost home, anyway."

"If you're going to be this annoying next time then get me a cab, seriously." You warn, continuing down the street.

Your apartment building comes into sight and with it, the end of your little walk. Johnny waits patiently at your door while you take off his coat and when you hand it back, makes sure to brush his fingers over yours with a shit-eating grin as you shiver.

"Not going to invite me in?" He cocks his head, watching you fish out your keys.

"That would be _beyond_ a bad idea." You fish them out and ascend up the steps. He observes you with his hands in his pockets, coat on his arm and a small smile on his face. For a second, you hesitate on the door.

_Would it be such a bad idea to let him in?_

Common sense grasps ahold of you and shakes you awake. As quickly as that thought had emerged, it disappears.

_Of course it would._

"Goodnight, Johnny." You say, a little more forcefully than intended.

He flashes a charming smile and it's then that you see it. The little red tint to his eyes as he watches you inch inside, closer to the safety of the building.

"Night, gorgeous." He raises a hand in a salute and smiles one last time, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his pearly white fangs.

That was deliberate, and both of you know it.

You can't shut the door fast enough.

-


	23. not what you think ; m.l

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark wants to be there for better or for worse, but how can he when you're not around?

-

Mark has never been one for fancy parties.

Maybe he would be if he wasn’t the center of attention all the time. Maybe he would be if you were with him.

But you’re not. The one to shield him from the cameras and out-finesse the reporters is nowhere to be found. Instead, he’s sitting at his designated table alone, trying to keep his composure in front of the camera that is trained on him from across the room.

Next to him, your champagne glass remains untouched. It has been ever since you’d excused yourself to go to the bathroom.

“I’m sure she’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Despite Mark’s neutral expression, not much is hidden from Zhong Chenle, one of his closest friends and a notorious chaebol heir, who takes a seat opposite and raises his flute. Mark clinks his own against it.

“She’s never normally gone this long, though.” He murmurs back, meeting his friend’s eyes. “It’s been almost an hour.”

Chenle gives a shrug, slumping in his seat. His nonchalant disposition only prompts Mark to do the same, leaning back and swirling his glass around, eyes watching the liquid slosh about.

After a minute, Chenle resumes the short-lived conversation. “We should probably go and greet Yuta at some point, you know.”

“It looks like he’s got his hands full to me.” Mark gestures to where Nakamoto Yuta, the host and organiser of this event is, currently laughing and talking with some investors, basking in their words of congratulations at the opening of his new nightclub.

Chenle looks over and snorts. “If _I’d_ have known opening a club gets you this much publicity, then I would’ve launched a chain over the whole of China. If you don’t want to congratulate him then can we not at least pick his brains for some tips? You might be an actor and all, but some of us have to actually do business for a living.”

“I’m not going unless Y/N is here,” Mark counters. “How do you think it’ll look if I go over there without my girlfriend of eight years?”

“It’d look a lot better,” Chenle leans forward, “if you _stopped_ calling her that and _started_ calling her your fiancée.” He giggles at Mark’s affronted expression. “I’m just saying, dude! It’s been so long, put a ring on it already!”

“I know.” Mark sighs out, hoping the cameras won’t catch the redness slowly emerging on his cheeks. In a lower voice, he adds, “I was hoping to do it soon.”

Chenle raises an eyebrow. “ _Was_?”

“Yeah,” Mark nods. “It’s just, she’s been acting weird lately, you know? Like, avoiding me and stuff. She goes out kinda late and disappears for a while and then won’t tell me where she’s been. Her and Renjun are always whispering about stuff and if she does tell me where she’s going it’s always to see him.”

“You need to stop right there.” The seriousness in Chenle’s tone lets Mark know how weighty his confession is. “You’re talking about two of your closest friends. You should get that thought out of your head right now.”

“How can I when _she’s_. _Not_. _Here_.” Mark tongues the inside of his cheek before placing his palms on the table and pushing his chair back. “Forget it, I’m gonna go find her.”

“You really shouldn’t-” Chenle moves to get up too.

“What if she’s sick or something?” Mark waves a hand to dismiss his friend. “Stay here and cover for me if anyone asks any questions. I’ll be back in a bit.”

If Chenle responds, he doesn’t hear it, instead making his way off in the direction of the bathrooms. It’s a small corridor of stalls, hidden away from the main room with all the discretion and sleekness Mark would expect from Yuta. True to its design there’s no-one about, giving him the perfect opportunity to slow down on his hunt for you and try to listen out to see if you’re around.

The last stall down the corridor gives him what he’s looking for. Straining to hear over the music that drifts down the hall, he catches the sound of your voice, and strangely, someone else too.

He knocks on the door before even realising what he’s done. The voices pause for a moment, and then the door unlocks and swings wide. Standing there is Renjun, looking wide-eyed at his friend. But Mark pays him almost no notice, because behind him on the floor is you, makeup smudged and lips red, mirroring Renjun’s expression.

There’s a sinking, swirling feeling in Mark’s stomach that drags his heart down from inside his chest and tightens his throat. His nails dig into his palms as he tries desperately to make sense of what he’s seeing. 

“Mark,” Renjun’s voice is low and gentle, destroying any deluded hope Mark has of thinking this is a dream- or nightmare. “This isn’t what you think it is.”

“Then tell me,” Mark clenches his jaw, “exactly what this is.”

Before Renjun can respond, you surprise both of them by bursting into tears.

The ugly sobs wrack your body and like an instinct, Mark pushes past Renjun and enters the stall. The nausea that rests in his belly is momentarily forgotten as he kneels down next to you, fingers hovering just next to your shoulder. Comforting you is something that comes naturally to him but the thought of touching you after finding you with another man causes his hands to still.

He doesn’t need to touch you in the end. As soon as you feel his presence nearby you fall into him, head landing on his shoulder and the tears roll down your face. His heart tightens uncomfortably.

“Why are you crying?” He asks dumbly, unable to think of anything else to say.

“Because!” you cry. “Because you’re going to think I’m cheating. And because this situation literally _could not_ get _any_ worse!”

“Oh my god,” he hears Renjun sigh exasperatedly from behind him. “This was _such_ a bad idea.”

Mark ignores him, finally placing his hands around you and rubbing your back comfortingly. As he does so, he notices something in your hand, something with two red lines and a coloured end.

“Y/N,” he gently pries it out of your hand and squints to examine it. “What is this?”

Your sobs turn to hiccups as you try to silence them,biting down on your lip to trap them in your throat.

“A pregnancy test.” You whisper, looking up at him. “I’m pregnant.”

Mark blinks. “ _What?_ ”

Obviously, his reaction wasn’t what you were expecting because you promptly burst into tears again. In disbelief, Mark turns to Renjun.

“She had morning sickness a few weeks ago while you were filming for your movie,” Renjun begins, raising a hand to his neck. “While you were gone Y/N came to me since, you know, my sister’s had a kid already. I took care of her for a bit and since she didn’t want to worry you I just kept doing it so you could focus on the film. Then we realised sickness could be a sign of being pregnant and Y/N just about had a fit, so I kinda talked her through it now and again.”

“That’s why you weren’t at home as often?” Mark turns back to you but you don’t reply, head buried in your hands. The pregnancy test is heavy in his hand. “You and Renjun were talking about _this?_ ”

“We finally took a test tonight, just to be sure.” Renjun continues uncomfortably. “I guess because there’s alcohol here- and people would ask questions if she didn’t drink at a _club_. She went to get me and I ran to get her a test. We’ve been in here ever since.”

Mark looks at you again, this time in a new light. Your tears smudge your makeup even more and seeing you bite down on your lips again- making them even redder than before -has him gently smoothing them over and holding you tighter. The revelation shocks him, both with delight and sadness.

“Why wouldn’t you just tell me?” He asks softly.

“Because we’re famous!” You sniffle, lip wobbling. “Because we weren’t trying. Because you’re in the middle of working and I have a fashion shoot coming up. You’re at the height of your career and mine is just about taking off. How was I supposed to know you’d be happy about this? _Are_ you even happy about this?”

"Y/N” Mark’s voice cracks as he shifts to face you fully. “Y/N, why wouldn’t I be happy.”

You blink at him, eyes still shining and with a furrow in your brow that he quickly smoothes over with a kiss.

“I’m not unhappy, or mad, or even angry.” He assures you. “Okay- I’m a _bit_ unhappy you didn’t tell me straight away, but we’re going to have a _baby_. A mini-us!” He strokes your cheek. “I’m thrilled!”

"Are you sure?” Your voice rises a little.

“Yes!” A smile begins to form on his face. It’s as if saying it out loud has finally made it sink in. “Who cares about my movie or your modelling? We’re having a _baby_.”

“I know! But it was just that we’re so busy and I didn’t know if you wanted to have a baby and-”

He silences you with a kiss, pressing your foreheads together and, upon breaking away, dries any tears left on your face.

“Let’s just get you to the car and we’ll go home, okay? I’m sure Renjun won’t mind telling the others where we are.” He turns to his friend.

Renjun raises his hands. “Consider me gone. Oh, _actually_ -” he pauses as he turns to go. “Would you consider the name Renjun, if it’s a guy? I do think I kinda played a big part of this and-”

“ _Out_ , dude.“ Mark groans as he feels you laugh against him. “Get out!“

Renjun says no more and with him finally gone Mark focuses back on you, taking your hands and lifting you to your feel.

“We’re gonna have a baby.“ You smile up at him. “We’re actually going to do this. Ugh, I feel like such an idiot. Why didn’t I just tell you?“

“I don’t care,“ Mark grins. “Just shut up and kiss me. I think I deserve it for everything you’ve put me through tonight.”

You roll your eyes but oblige anyway, lacing his hand in your own as you lean forward.

You should’ve known. Through thick and thin, Mark has always been there, a comforting presence even on your lowest of days. With the initial fear over with all you can do it rest your head against his chest as his arms circle you, content with the fact tonight marks a new chapter in both of your lives. One you will embark on together.

-


	24. where the arrow lies ; d.sc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the game of war, there is no-one you'd rather hurt- not even the enemy -than him.

-

" _Focus_."

A rough hand grips your chin, forcing it up, higher, until you yield to the change. Your waist is met with the same fate, rotated harshly until your whole form is modified to face your target head-on. It is not how you would prefer to stand, but you have no choice except to grit your teeth and accept the alteration.

Behind you, your teacher stands with his arms folded, gazing over you at the target that lies a hundred paces away. It's stuck full of arrows from the attempts of earlier students who have yet to collect them but the small yellow circle is still visible, taunting you from afar.

From your quiver, you draw an arrow and follow with a slow exhale that helps to unclench your jaw and relax your shoulders. Archery should be just like breathing, as if the arrow is nothing more than an extension of your arm, set loose by the beating of your heart.

_Focus_ , he’d said, and so you do, loading the arrow into your bow and levelling it with your shoulders. Another prolonged inhale lets you gauge the distance from the target and with narrowed eyes you let the wind stroke your cheeks. It’s blowing diagonal left, so you tilt right.

" _Shoot_." Sicheng commands.

Like clockwork, you obey and let the arrow fly.

All your preparation culminates within one single second. By the time the bow has snapped back your arrow is already embedded in its target.

It has hit the yellow section right in the middle. If not for Dejun's arrow nestled right next to it, it would be a perfect bullseye. In other words, it is as close to perfection as you can get.

Sicheng's disappointment is palpable and enough to make you lower your head, overcome by embarrassment and fist clenched by your side.

If only you hadn’t released the arrow when he had said. You hadn't _needed_ to but the mere fact you _did_ fills you with so much humiliation and rage you cannot bear to face him, nor your peers who stand close by.

You should not have listened to him, but he shouldn't have told you when to shoot. He shouldn't have changed your stance.

"Turn around." He displeasure in his voice is obvious and as you turn, you witness him shake his head as if you'd been unable to hit the target at all.

"I _told_ you that if you held your position as I instructed, then you would gain power from your core and thighs. So why is it you didn't listen? You crumpled like a wet blanket, Y/N."

Someone sniggers from your right. It's enough to send a white-hot lick of fury up your spine.

"I hit the target." Your voice is quiet but you meet his eyes with your chin jutted out, a silent notion of defiance.

He glowers back with narrowed eyes. "I told you to _split_ Dejun's arrow," is his reply, "not miss it entirely. If you are the best this kingdom has to offer against the Northern invaders, then I'm afraid you are all going to die on that battlefield quicker than the footmen."

Your mouth moves before you can stop yourself. "At least I'm not a traitor."

A hush falls over the training ground. The sound of the crickets halts and the rustling trees fall silent as if very nature itself has paused to watch what happens next. If another student was to walk upon the training grounds they would see the two of you squaring up, Sicheng's face twisting to control his fury while you, his student, glare back in defiance, far too proud to apologise.

If you are forced to train under Dong Sicheng, then the least you can do is retaliate with your words. To make him _hurt_.

Your hands have tightened around your bow, ready for the backlash, but surprisingly, it never comes. Sicheng's anger subsides as quickly as is had come, preventing your satisfaction as he breaks eye contact and looks away.

"Go and load your quiver full again and then run around the training grounds."

His voice is far too calm, but then again, you don't think you've seen Sicheng express anything other than disappointment and anger when he's around you. Perhaps it was just taking a different form.

"How long for?"

"Until I tell you to stop." There's no mistaking the venom in his voice, cold and quiet and full of finality.

For a moment, you contemplate hurling your bow at his face. He's not looking and you are a decent shot. There's no way you would miss. Even if you were imprisoned back in the garrison or never allowed to lift a bow again, it would be worth it to see his expression.

But Sicheng's command has issued a silent challenge, one you have no intention of backing down from.

Finally looking away, you drop your head and stalk away, over to the arrow bin to fill up your quiver. The group of students watch you as your pace changes from a walk to a jog, hitting a full sprint just as you hit the exercise track.

As you go, Sicheng's glare burns into the back of your head like the rays of the sun. You daydream of lifting your middle finger into the air for him to see, but the little ball of anger nestled in your chest demands vengeance in another form. You make him eat your words.

So, you won't be stopping anytime soon, not even when your feet become bloody and your legs become numb.

All that’s left to do now is run.

-

And you do until the fresh late morning burns into the afternoon, swollen with heat and dry air. The cool evening is your only saviour as the hotness slowly begins to dissipate, though the earth is still warm underneath your burning feet.

Sweat beads from your forehead and you can't even lift your arms to wipe it. They're too exhausted from carrying your bow, which is slung over your shoulder and jostles with every step you take, the string digging into your shoulder. In your defiance, you had refused to take the easy way out so long as Sicheng- and by extension, the other students -were watching, meaning not only were you carrying a full quiver, but you had taken your bow too.

You've been running for hours. There was no way of telling the time and the sun was far too bright to look at, but the command had been issued just before noon and now afternoon training had finished a few hours ago. From out on the track. you can see the dim glow of the lights in the training camp through the trees, a reminder that dinner will be served soon.

You haven't eaten since the morning and by now you're convinced you are running using your hatred of Sicheng for fuel.

Before him, you had been the most revered trainee. When Commander Qian had announced that a defector from the North- your enemy -was to be teaching the recruits of the archery unit. you had been surprised but unruffled. Every trainer and master you'd ever met had complimented your prowess with the bow and you expected this one to do just the same.

Except Sicheng hadn't. Never had a positive word about you flowed from his lips. He encouraged the others all the while, giving them tips that solidified his position as one of the greatest bowmen to walk the Earth, but with you, it was as if he held some sort of grudge.

While other masters commended your promise and skill Sicheng always demanded _more_. If you had mastered the flight bow, he would move you onto the recurve. If you could hit from a hundred paces, he would have you do two hundred. And if you could do all _that_ , then he wanted you splitting other students' arrows.

While it was true your skillset had grown under his tutelage, so had your hatred for him. The spark your old teachers had ignited now grew red hot and burning around him, full of loathing and distaste.

It is your very hatred that ignites once again as you see a familiar figure on the horizon. With your jaw set, you push your exhausted feet further into the dirt as he gets closer, managing to get one extra lap in before he reaches the track.

If you'd thought he'd come to let you inside, you were mistaken.

Sicheng stands by the track with his arms folded and watches you run. By now, the pain in your legs and arms has crept up to attack your middle, with shooting pains greeting your ribcage every time you take a step.

But stopping is not an option, because that means Sicheng has won. So you run, further and further until something jerks you back by the arm, an action that has you crashing to the ground in an undignified heap. Belatedly, you realise Sicheng has stopped you himself.

Your lungs burn, you cannot feel your feet and you are lightheaded with a funny taste in your mouth- but the victory is sweet. The blood rushing in your ears masks your gasps for air, chest swelling and heaving as you remain spread out on the dirt, looking up at the darkening sky.

Sicheng leans over you, blocking the view as he holds out a hand. "Get up."

The unfairness of the situation almost brings tears to your eyes. _You've_ _won_. He can't demand anything else from you, surely?

He repeats the instruction and your voice cracks as you admit you cannot.

His eyes narrow. "I said get _up_."

This time he grabs onto your wrist and tries to haul you up, but you wriggle out of his grip and drop your hand back onto the floor.

"I said I can't." You repeat softly, tiredly. "Just get someone else to come get me, or leave me out here all night. I don't care."

You move your gaze from his face back up to the sky, content to watch the clouds meander across your vision. Like your energy, your anger has shrivelled up now, left to starve now there is no more track to burn up.

There is nothing more you can possibly give today.

You don't even notice when Sicheng exhales and then gracefully sits down next to you.

"You need to do more endurance training."

You frown up at the sky. "What?"

"You need to work on your stamina. Once you have that, you can work on improving your strength."

A snort leaves your lips involuntarily. "I have just run for _hours_. Do not tell me I need better endurance when you haven't witnessed my training at all. If you are looking for someone to poke and prod at for the rest of the day, go to Dejun. He'll be more than happy to take your advice."

Sicheng doesn't speak for a moment and when you peer over you see that he too is watching the sky.

"Dejun doesn't need that sort of advice. He's doing well."

"Oh." You bark out a laugh, more of a wheeze than anything, and Sicheng whips his head over in alarm. "I'm _so_ glad Dejun is doing well. At least someone manages to live up to their impossible expectations."

You hear Sicheng open his mouth and then pause.

"If you are referring to my expectations as impossible," he hesitates, "then I will agree that they are."

"You do? So why the hell-"

"For Dejun."

Again, you glare up at the sky with growing annoyance at his words. "What does that mean/?"

"It means I don't expect Dejun to be splitting arrows." Sicheng supplies. "If you want to do that, then like I said, you need to work on your stamina and strength."

"I told you my stamina is fine. Did you not see me run?"

"No!" He snaps in annoyance, while you meet his gaze as you prop yourself up on your elbows and glower at him. "I didn't. And I didn't tell you to waste yourself away running in that manner either."

Your mouth falls open. "How dare you-"

"I don't care if you managed a hundred laps or ten, your body will be ruined for tomorrow-"

"How _dare_ you." You repeat again, words softened down to a hiss, but Sicheng still flinches from their blow, momentarily silenced. "You have no _idea_ how hard I’ve worked for this. How much I slave over trying to satisfy you even an inch! I don't care how they trained you in the North but do you ever consider you ask too much of me, and that I am sick of trying to live up to your expectations?"

Exhausted from your outburst, you slump back down while the truth hangs like a blackened cloud over you.

"If you want someone else to terrorise, go to Dejun. Given that he's a man, he should have no trouble splitting the arrows you so desperately want me to. It should take him a week and no less."

Silence falls over the two of you again, the crickets filling in the empty space.

"Is that what you think?" Sicheng questions. "That I terrorise you?"

A snort leaves your mouth. "You mean you don't?"

His response isn't something you're interested in hearing. Despite the protest of your legs and just about every other muscle in your body, you get to your feet. Just as you begin the slow walk back to the garrison, Sicheng catches your arm.

"You're the most infuriating soldier I've ever had to train." He gazes at you heatedly. "Do you know that? You never _listen_."

"Well," you step forward, eyes narrowed. "You must have not trained many students then."

He knows what you’re implying as his eyes widen momentarily. _Everyone_ at camp has heard the rumours, that Dong Sicheng was part of the North’s elite kill squad. So how would he have time to train when he was too busy murdering your people?

" _Don't-_ " Sicheng steps closer but never finishes his sentence. The two of you are chest to chest, so close you can feel his breath on your face as he stares down at you. The heat behind his eyes- something you've never quite seen before, that is intriguing and exciting altogether -drop lower, until you realise he's staring at your lips.

You move an inch closer, eyes examining the beautifully sharp curve of Sicheng's jawline and his dark, half-lidded eyes.

How much closer can you get until he breaks?

His lips are something else altogether, almost symmetrical and when they part something tenses inside you, like the moment before you release an arrow. All it will take is a second- you know it -to press your lips against his. At a distance like this, neither of you can miss.

But then Sicheng exhales and steps away sharply, refusing to meet your gaze. It's as if a veil has been lifted and you blink, trying to make sense of the situation. Surely you had not just been about to -?

"You should head back." He clears his throat, looking down at you expectantly. Something about his instant dismissal of you has you scoffing in disbelief.

But then you are reminded. This is Dong Sicheng, the traitor and bane of your existence. Someone only in your life so you may defeat a common enemy. You shouldn't have expected anything less.

So you bow your head slightly, bid him a venom-filled goodnight and then, despite your aching muscles, storm off as fast as you can.

You shouldn't be angry or humiliated, or even frustrated! But you _are_. The worst part is every inch of you wishes to be back in front of him, to push his buttons just a little more and to see if you can make him just as heated as he makes you.

As you go, Sicheng watches, a dark look in his eyes and Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows shallowly. This time, he let his feelings get the best of him.

He will have to ensure there is no next time. But if there ever were a match for him, with or without the bow, he knows you are the person for the job.

-


End file.
